Abecedarian
by Khebidecia
Summary: The alphabet according to three colonels. Or, everything makes sense if Marya is an alien. Or, may the English language have mercy on my soul.
1. A is for Audacious

Abecedarian

Summary: The alphabet according to three colonels. Or, everything makes sense if Marya is an alien. Or, may the English language have mercy on my soul.

* * *

Disclaimer: I do not own _Hogan's Heroes_.

Author's Note: For a while, I've wanted to write a 26 chapter story based on the "Word of the Day" from the Merriam Webster Dictionary app I have on my phone. For a long time, I had no idea what that story was supposed to be about, and then I randomly happened to see Konarciq's Crazy Picture Challenge, and suddenly the two ideas blended together with the single thought: "everything makes sense if Marya is an alien."

This led to picking out 26 of the pictures to match the 26 alphabet-inspired chapters, and as I'm sure you can all predict, the end result is completely absurd. Seriously. It took me several hours and a massive flowchart to mash a plot out of this thing, but in the end, the plot came together. Now it may not be the _strongest_ plot in some places, but that was never the point of this story.

And now about the update schedule. The crazy picture challenge specifically says that the story is to be published in 2019. I started writing this in June, but then the SSSW challenge interrupted me, and then I quit my job, moved, and started grad school. As a result, this story has not actually been finished as of my typing this, but I have a lot of it, and I should be able to finish writing soon. At this point I have to post about one chapter a day to get through the alphabet before the end of the year, so I'm going to start posting anyway.

About the words selected: all were words of the day at some point, but if you look at the Merriam Webster website, you may not find them all listed. Merriam Webster deletes the old words after a while.

Thank you to anyone reading, and please remember that this story is not to be taken seriously in any way, shape, or form. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

A is for Audacious

"Very confident and daring: very bold and surprising or shocking"

* * *

Group Captain Rodney Crittendon whistled to himself merrily as he traipsed through the German countryside. It was lovely weather for an escape, and so far he had not run into any trouble. The only shame was that the boys at the camp he just escaped had not been able to come with him even though they had worked so hard towards helping him escape. They were nice chaps, really, but a little too self-sacrificing, even if he was their ranking officer. Perhaps they would succeed on their next escape.

But for now, all Rodney was concerned with was getting himself back to England and helping with the war effort. He briefly considered dropping in on Hogan and his boys on the way, as he was in the area, but they were always so busy with their own camp that he could not possibly bother them with helping the men from his camp. Or rather, he chuckled happily, his _old_ camp.

As he neared Hammelburg, Rodney made sure to skirt around the town. It was really too pleasant of a night to spend with buildings on all sides, and he considered himself a good authority on the countryside in this area, having been here so many times before.

He wove through the trees, only stumbling a few times as he made his way west, and stopping every few minutes to look up at the stars as he imagined how much more beautiful they would be from home. At one point he glanced to his left and paused in amazement. Sometimes he simply did not understand Jerry, and watching those midnight farmers working in their field certainly did not help, but he shrugged off his confusion and made his way on.

Soon he came across a small dirt road, heading uphill and to the west, just the direction he needed to go. There was no one on the road, and he was confident that he could tell if anyone was coming, so he climbed onto the road and kept walking, the tune of his whistling keeping him company as he headed home.

About an hour later, Rodney found an old stump and sat down to take a break, noting with satisfaction that the road had grass growing on it the entire time he followed it. He was certain that he was quite safe now. He looked up at the twinkling stars again for a few minutes before turning his gaze to the empty field on the other side of the road.

The next moment, Rodney found himself giving the field a double-take. He could have sworn he saw a star twinkling in it, but that was impossible. There had been not a single firefly throughout his entire evening's stroll, and the stars were definitely confined to the sky. He stared hard at the field and saw nothing, but he was nothing if not persistent. If that field was twinkling, he would get to the bottom of it. His watch lasted for perhaps ten more minutes, but was rewarded at last.

He was still alone, so Rodney got up and moved carefully towards the place where he saw the twinkle, curiosity piqued and determination high. It was a good thing he was moving carefully, too, because the next thing Rodney knew, he had run into something that he could not see a moment before. But as soon as he ran into it, a brief vision of it flared into sight, and he stumbled backward as it turned invisible again. Cautiously, he put out his hand, and as soon as he touched the object, it came back into sight.

"By Jove," he murmured to himself as he took in the object. It seemed to be a large broad head arrow, big enough to hold a good-sized flat and wide enough to fill the field that he now saw was anything _but_ empty. His gaze travelled along its reflective silver surface trying to take in the entire structure. It seemed to be slightly sunken into the earth, so he had a good visual of the top, and he could see the stars mirrored back at the sky. But among those twinkling stars shone one light, consistent now that the whole structure was visible, and it seemed to be shining right on top of a squarish section, about the size of a trap door.

Rodney crept closer to the light, making sure to run his hand along the structure as he went, and eventually found himself clambering on top of the thing for a better view. Soon he found himself reaching out and pulling open a latched, not as surprised as he thought he should be to find an actual trap door in the thing, and he did what any sensible man who found a mysteriously large and invisible arrowhead in the middle of enemy territory would do—he walked down the stairs inside it.

Rodney was not sure what to expect, but he certainly did not think he would find luxuriant living quarters in the thing, complete with large windows and more light-up buttons than he had ever seen in his life. "Oh my," he said quietly, "it seems Jerry has found a new type of invisible basement." Even as he said it, he knew that it was absurd so that not even that Hogan chap would try tricking the enemy with this sort of a ruse, but he knew what he had seen and what he had not seen, and honestly he wondered if the Stalag XIII boys' favorite guard had been here too. It certainly would explain a lot about him, Rodney mused to himself.

"May I help you?" Rodney whirled around in a battle stance as soon as he heard the words, trying not to let his foot twist in the ornate rug underfoot. He could have sworn the man standing in front of him had not been there before.

"Wot? Who are you?"

"I am the HMSS Tubby III, private exploration and camping craft. It seems my owner is not here right now, but I expect her back shortly. May I get you anything while you wait?"

"See here," Rodney said, trying to pull himself together like any good British Group Captain should, "what's all this nonsense about 'HMS**S**' and you having an owner now? Slavery is illegal, don't you know?"

"The term 'HMSS' stands for 'High Mileage Star Ship' and is the standard term used to tell potential buyers that a star ship can be expected to last on long trips without breaking down. I am the holographic interface for the HMSS Tubby III. I am not a person and so am not enslaved."

"I say," Rodney said, not really sure how else to respond. He wanted to ask what several of those other terms meant but figured they would just be explained using other words he did not know. Instead he began wandering around the room, looking at various things and wondering how Jerry built it all and why they put it in an abandoned field.

Suddenly his attention was arrested by a sight that he did not quite understand how he had missed until now. On a pedestal against one wall was the single largest diamond he had ever laid eyes on. He could scarcely believe the size of the thing and walked over to get a better look.

Rodney Crittendon had never considered himself a man to succumb to the lures of jewels, and he certainly had never been one to engage in grand theft, but as he gazed at the diamond he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jerry should not have anything that marvelous in their possession. This was something that belonged in England.

There was a small pair of extendable pincers lying on the pedestal, and Rodney picked them up, seeing that they were obviously used to touch the diamond. He slipped them on his hand and reached out to the diamond.

"I cannot allow you to take my power source offline without my owner's direct permission," the man who claimed not to be a person said suddenly, but he did not reach out to stop Rodney, so the Group Captain decided to ignore him and pick up the diamond. The only problem was that it would not move. Rodney bent close to the pedestal to examine it, but the diamond did not appear to be attached to it, so he straightened up and tried again.

The diamond still would not budge, and by now Rodney was becoming quite miffed over this whole affair, but he was not ready to give up, so he tried again, this time with his full strength. To his surprise, the extendable pincers started bending out of shape, and he was soon left holding a useless arc of metal, his efforts useless except for proving his own strength to him.

"Well, blast it," he said quietly, "I suppose there's only one way about this then." Against his better judgement, Rodney reached out and grasped the diamond with his bare hand. But the moment his hand closed around it, and just as he started to pull it towards himself, the diamond let out a bright flash and a loud bang. The next thing Rodney knew, he was on his back across the room, his hand in ruins and the floor between him and the pedestal covered in small, glittering shards of diamond.

"You should not have done that," the other man told him mildly. "HMSS power sources are temperamental and tend to explode when not handled with a mollifying material. There is enough power left for basic ship functions, such as life support and communication, but a new power source must be located before any interstellar trips are made."

Rodney blinked up at him, hearing the word "interstellar" and finally recognizing this for what it was. He wondered how he could have been so foolish as to not recognize a "star ship" as being from one of those H.G. Wells novels, but then again, he had always been more of a bardolater himself. But his attention turned back to his hand, and he began realizing just how much it hurt.

"I say," he began, his voice surprisingly weak to his own ears. "My hand is just about done for."

"That can be corrected," the star ship told him, and Rodney realized with surprise how easily he was accepting this all. The star ship motioned for Rodney to move through a couple of doorways, and he soon found himself in a small white room with a doctor's table in it. "Put your hand there."

Rodney did as he was told, and as he watched, his ruined hand began reforming into the old hand he knew so well. "I say," he finally managed once more before sitting back and deciding he must be in shock.

"Updating local language bank," he heard the star ship say, "'I say' added to vocabulary database as an all-purpose exclamation of surprise."

Rodney felt like he should say something about that, but he was too overwhelmed at the moment. He barely noticed the lights around him dimming as he leaned into the chair back and fell asleep, hoping that it was all a dream.

Unfortunately for Group Captain Rodney Crittendon, when he awoke again, he was still on a broken star ship in the middle of Germany, and he realized that he would probably need a spot of help with this one after all.


	2. B is for Brouhaha

B is for Brouhaha

"Great excitement or concern about something."

* * *

Hogan was in town for the night, hoping to make contact with an underground agent who had information on "something important." He did not doubt that it was something important, the underground never said it was without reason, but he sometimes wished that they would trust their messengers with a little more information. This time there was not even an exact meeting place or time, just, "somewhere in the Hofbrau if our man can make it."

So Hogan found himself wandering around the Hofbrau hoping to bump into the person in question but knowing that time was running out fast before he had to head back to camp. He was just about to turn to leave when he suddenly heard a very familiar voice coming from behind the door just beside him.

"I say!" came Crittendon's very English exclamation, "this is new."

Hogan honestly thought about getting out of there and leaving the British Colonel to his own devices, but if this was the contact the underground wanted him to meet, and very sensibly did not name, then he supposed he had to go through the door. Or maybe he could just—

"Colonel Hogan, are you there, Old Boy?"

And now he had to go through the door, if only to keep Crittendon from getting them _both_ caught. He took a deep breath and opened the door, and seeing no one in view, he stepped in fully and shut the door behind him.

"There you are!" came Crittendon's happy voice. "I've been having the most fascinating adventure tonight, but I'm afraid I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess and would like your assistance."

Hogan turned slowly towards Crittendon, something about the whole situation warning him that he should be savoring his last few moments of sanity. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the instant he laid eyes on his fellow colonel.

Crittendon was a ghost. An actual, transparent ghost. And he had chosen to haunt Hogan.

Now Hogan was not the kind of man to believe in ghosts, but he was also not the kind of man to deny what was staring him right in the face, and in this case, that was the ghost of Crittendon. He never realized before now how much comfort he took in the fact that the man was seemingly impervious, a quality that got Hogan through every meeting with him, but now not even Crittendon had found a way out. Of course, seeing that most people did not become ghosts, maybe he _did_ find a way out after all.

"Hogan, are you all right? You look a bit peakish."

"What happened?" Hogan asked at last, wishing Crittendon would stop looking so oblivious.

"Oh, I was pulling off an escape, and I found myself walking on an overgrown trail just north of Hammelburg, when I discovered the most amazing thing. It was a giant high mileage star ship from outer space! When I went inside, I'm afraid I took my exploration to a rather undignified length and accidentally broke something important.

"Now, Hogan Old Boy, you seem to have a head for pulling off things like this, so if you could help me fix the star ship before the owner shows up again, I would be much obliged."

This was far from what Hogan expected to hear, and he found himself gaping at Crittendon's ghost for a few moments before his brain caught up with what it just heard. "You found a spaceship just north of Hammelburg, and it killed you?"

"Oh no, not that at all. I'm still very much alive, and the HMSS Tubby III has the best medical facilities you've ever seen. It fixed up my hand as good as new." Crittendon held up one transparent hand as if to show Hogan that it was somehow normal. Suddenly Hogan saw what the other man was holding and did a double take.

"Are you taking notes?"

"Why yes. If you're going to help me fix this star ship, then I need to remember your exact words, don't you know." With that, Crittendon's ghost held his notepad and pen ready to write, and Hogan was left feeling completely disoriented.

"So you're not a ghost."

"Oh no, never that. I'd have to be dead to be a ghost, I'd presume."

"Then why do you look like that?" Hogan made a motion towards Crittendon, and the man obligingly looked down at himself only to get a blank expression on his face.

"I say, Hogan," he murmured, "you need to get out of that prison camp more if you can't remember what civilian clothes look like any more." Hogan closed his eyes, wondering how Crittendon's not-ghost had failed to notice that he was wearing civilian clothes at that very moment, but he needed to know what was going on without the conversation being derailed any further.

When he opened his eyes again, Crittendon seemed to be paying attention to something that Hogan could not see, and Hogan took those few moments to pinch himself. Unfortunately he still seemed to be very awake, but a glance at his watch told him that he needed to get back to camp soon if he did not want to be missed.

"I say," said Crittendon at last, chuckling. "Well, Hogan Old Boy, I had no idea that I looked like a ghost until the HMSS Tubby III explained. I am not a ghost, this is just what it looks like when the HMSS Tubby III sends a holy gram to a place without proper projecting equipment. Sounds just like Jerry, don't you think?"

"Holy gram?"

Crittendon's brow furrowed. "Hollow gram? Hole-O'-Gram? It's something like that. Space alien words are so different from ours."

Hogan fought off the urge to just leave, but if this was Crittendon projecting himself with an alien spaceship, then it would probably be useless. His best bet was to get this over with as soon as possible, even if it would be interesting to see Schultz's face when faced with the ghost of Crittendon. But that reminded him that Schultz was on leave and he himself did not want to be haunted forever.

"What is it you need from me again?"

"I need you to put this star ship back how it was. I seem to have shattered the power source, and who knows what will happen if the owner returns to find it vandalized."

"How do you expect me to fix an alien star ship? I fly planes, not star ships."

"It can't be that different, and you always seem to pull off anything you try, so I'm sure you can get it working right again." Before Hogan could protest the lack of logic in that statement, Crittendon went on. "Now remember, it's an arrowhead-shaped star ship in a field to the northwest of Hammelburg. HMSS Tubby III here told me that the cloaking system is broken, so you should be able to find it with no problems.

"I say," exclaimed Crittendon, suddenly looking down at his own watch, "is it that time already? Hogan, you should be in bed right now, or preparing for roll call!" Hogan opened his mouth to protest Crittendon's true yet unwelcome declaration, but the man suddenly blinked out of existence.

Hogan checked his own watch again, knowing that there was no way he could make it back to camp on time without stealing a car or motorbike, and that would draw far too much attention. There was nothing for it but to move as fast as he could on foot and trust that his men would be able to delay the guards and Klink enough. Crittendon and his star ship could wait.

* * *

A few miles away, Group Captain Rodney Crittendon signed off the star ship's communication line, ignoring the small, sparking explosion on one panel of buttons as he did so. Well, that was one problem taken care of. Hogan would undoubtedly know what to do when he got here.

Meanwhile, Rodney decided it might be better to head back to town and find someplace to wait until he knew the problem would be taken care of. He was clearly the Goldilocks in this situation, and he did not want to be found sleeping here if he could possibly help it, never mind the fact that he had already taken a nap in the infirmary.

Clearly it was time to head off and let someone else worry about the problem for a while.

* * *

While Hogan did make it back to camp in record time, he knew that he was still far too late for the Germans to have not noticed his absence. He got to the tree stump and took a few moments to peer into camp, seeing to his surprise that the men were not still in roll-call formation, and in fact nowhere to be seen. The Germans were rushing around, however, so perhaps they had just confined everyone to barracks until they knew more about what happened to Hogan.

"This is good," he told himself, dropping through the stump, "this way I can talk with my men before I show up again." He changed as quickly as possible and climbed up into Barracks 2, seeing the relieved looks on his men's faces as soon as they saw him. He held up a hand to keep them from asking questions.

"What's the situation? How long have they been looking for me?"

The men's faces changed from relieved to confused one by one as they processed his questions.

"Sir," said Kinch, "roll call hasn't happened yet. We thought they caught you when you were coming back in, but no one was saying anything on the bug in Klink's office."

Hogan checked his watch. It was a full forty-five minutes after roll call should have happened. "No, I wasn't caught, just badly delayed, but the guards outside look like something big is happening."

"Did the underground contact say anything unusual?" asked Carter.

"He never showed," Hogan replied, debating whether to tell his men what actually happened. It was not very believable, but he did need to check out this alien star ship northwest of Hammelburg as soon as possible. Even if Crittendon was wrong about what it was, he refused to believe that the ghost was just his imagination. But before he could decide what to tell them, the door latch was fumbled open, and a very distressed looking Langensheidt stepped inside.

"What's going on?" asked Newkirk at once. "We've been waiting a bleedin' hour for you punctual Germans to show up."

"Please, Newkirk. Just let me count you, and then Colonel Hogan needs to come with me."

"What is it? Did Hitler finally surrender?"

"Nein, Colonel Hogan. Just come." Langenscheidt made short work of counting the prisoners, and then he stepped outside the hut. There was not much Hogan could do but follow him, and when he was led straight to Klink's office, he was grateful his men could at least listen in. What surprised him was that Klink was nowhere to be seen. Instead Gruber stood there, looking almost frightened.

"What's going on? Where's the Kommandant?"

"Colonel Hogan, we were hoping you knew."

"What do you mean?"

Gruber and Langenscheidt traded uncertain looks before Gruber gave Langenscheidt a small nod.

"Colonel Hogan, this morning right before roll call, I came to make sure the Kommandant was ready. He was just putting on his coat, and he looked up, and suddenly he was gone."

"What do you mean, 'gone?'"

"There was a bright flash, like a camera with too much powder, and then the Kommandant was gone. We looked for him everywhere, but we cannot find him. He's gone."

Hogan, for the second time in two hours, was completely blindsided. First Crittendon was a not-ghost, and then Klink vanished in front of Langenscheidt's eyes.

Maybe there was some truth in the alien star ship theory after all.


	3. C is for Cuckoo

C is for Cuckoo

"Silly or crazy, very enthusiastic"

* * *

Gruber and (especially) Langenscheidt were looking at Hogan with expectant faces, as though they somehow hoped he would know what to do in this exact situation. He latched onto the first thing he could think of, hoping deep down that it would actually come true.

"The Kommandant just disappeared without any warning, so maybe he'll _re_appear without any warning."

"Do you really think that will happen?" asked Gruber, looking slightly relieved.

"For your sake, I hope not," Hogan replied, letting himself look uneasy.

Gruber faltered, glancing at Langenscheidt. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it, if Klink comes back and finds all the guards wandering around away from their posts, the prisoners confined to barracks, and no formal roll call made yet an hour after schedule, he'll be terribly upset. It's basically asking for an escape, and you know how he feels about those." As helpful as no roll call had been to Hogan that morning, having them was usually for the best. It gave the prisoners a rock solid alibi whenever they needed one, after all. Besides, having guards wander aimlessly around the camp searching for a Kommandant who had (maybe) been abducted by aliens was just not a good idea.

"So what do you think we should do?" Gruber was not the kind of man to ask Hogan for advice, so he must really be unsure of himself. Hogan decided to use that to his advantage.

"Run the camp exactly like nothing strange happened. Act like the Kommandant is just taking a nap, or in town for a meal. Put all the guards back at their posts. Just ignore this morning, and maybe it will all go away."

"And what if someone visits the camp before the Kommandant comes back?"

"Just tell them he's sick, and the doctor said it was highly contagious. If that doesn't work, start coughing and scratching." Hogan hated to give the Germans the idea that he knew how to use tricks like that effectively, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and he needed the camp routine to be as normal as possible if he wanted a chance to pay Crittendon and the star ship a visit.

"Very well, Colonel Hogan," Gruber conceded, "this may be the best we can do. But if the Kommandant stays missing, we'll need to do something eventually. In the meantime, I will run the camp in Colonel Klink's stead." Gruber moved over to Klink's desk uncertainly, clearly unsettled by what had happened. "Corporal Langenscheidt, take Colonel Hogan back to his hut and get the final barracks count from the other guards. We'll go back to routine as soon as we know that everyone else is still here."

Langenscheidt moved to the door but hesitated before going through. "Sir? Should we have Sergeant Schultz come back early?"

Gruber looked to Hogan, who shrugged. "I'd say not to do anything that will attract attention. Schultz is the guest of honor at the German Industry Toy Auction, and people would probably notice if he left suddenly. Besides, if Klink is back before Schultz, we won't have to worry about explaining anything to him."

"That is true." Gruber motioned Hogan and Langenscheidt out the door as he sat down behind the Kommandant's desk. Outside the Kommandantur, several guards waited, probably to report the prisoner counts, but Langenscheidt escorted Hogan past them. He kept sending Hogan nervous glances, and at last seemed to work up his courage to speak.

"Colonel Hogan, did you do, I mean, do you think the Allies did something to the Kommandant?"

Hogan looked at him in surprise. He had been so worried about the alien star ship that he hadn't given much thought to the fact that he might be blamed for this mess. "No. No, I don't know what happened to Klink. I had nothing to do with it, and I think the Allies would take someone else if they had the ability." Thankfully Langenscheidt seemed to accept his word. "But what about Gruber? He seemed to be taking this well. I mean, _I_ believe you about what you saw, but why does he?"

"He was a few seconds behind me this morning, and he saw the flash for himself. Colonel Hogan, I hope you are right that the Kommandant will come back too. It is not good knowing that this could happen to him in the middle of camp." Hogan guessed that Langenscheidt was worried about everyone else in the camp as well, but said nothing about it. They were back at Barracks 2 anyway, and Hogan had one headache of a debriefing to do give his men.

* * *

When Hogan stepped inside the barracks, it only took one glance at his men's faces for him to know that they had heard everything. He shut the door behind him and walked over to the stove for some coffee before turning to them.

"Boy, that was one crazy story. What do you think Langenscheidt really saw?"

Hogan saw Carter's disbelief in everyone's faces. "He saw exactly what he said he did."

"_Mon Colonel, c'est impossible_," came LeBeau's disbelieving reply, and Newkirk immediately joined in.

"Klink is no magician, and even if he were, there's no point in this."

"That's exactly what I would think too, if not for what I saw when I was in Hammelburg this morning."

"Did something like this happen there too? Why keep Klink's disappearance so secret, then?"

Hogan looked at Kinch. "As far as I know, Klink is the only one who vanished, but something else strange happened around the same time. I was confronted by Crittendon's not-ghost."

"Crittendon's not-ghost?" asked Newkirk in the voice he used when he thought someone had gone mad. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that a see-through Crittendon showed up out of nowhere, claimed he was not a ghost, and told me that he found some unusual equipment in a field northwest of Hammelburg. Now, he claimed it was an alien star ship named HMSS Tubby III, but that was about all."

He could see from the looks the men were giving him that they thought he had finally lost it, and he wished he could backtrack and not tell them the star ship's absurd name, but it was too late. "Now before you say anything, after Crittendon told me that, he vanished. Just like that. I looked at my watch to see how much time I had to get back to camp, and if what Langenscheidt and Gruber said was true, that was the same time that Klink vanished." The men looked at each other, clearly not sure what to think, but he knew they could not deny that Klink was gone.

"Did Colonel Crittendon also vanish in a bright flash of light, Sir?" Carter asked politely.

"No, but I'm guessing Klink wasn't transparent before _he _vanished."

"Colonel, even if all this is true and there is an alien star ship named HMSS Tubby III, what are you planning to do about it?" Kinch spoke up, asking the most important question of all.

"I'm not sure there _is_ much we can do, at least not right now. Gruber is going to keep us on the regular schedule, so we can try to go out tonight and see if we can find this alien star ship. Crittendon said the field was next to an overgrown road, so we should look for one on the maps. But other than that, we need to stay in camp and be on our best behavior. The guards are too jumpy to leave during daylight."

"And what if Gruber decides to have a surprise bed check?"

"We'll give him a sedative this evening so he won't wake up and think of it. We also need someone monitoring the coffeepot for the rest of the day in case he gives orders for one before then."

"Okay," Kinch conceded, "but if you plan to go out again tonight, you need to get some sleep now. Olsen can take care of the maps."

Hogan looked over at Olsen, silently agreeing that the outside man was probably the best for locating Crittendon's road and giving him a short nod. He then headed into his office, hoping that Gruber did not make much noise over the bug for the next few hours while he tried to sleep.

* * *

That evening there were no plans for a surprise bed check, so Hogan, Newkirk, and LeBeau prepared to leave the camp. Olsen showed them where he thought some likely places were on the maps, and Hogan, realizing that there was no way he could cover all the possible ground in just a few hours on foot, agreed to take one of the camp trucks. He could only hope that the road was not too overgrown to drive on, but Carter assured him that people on farms drove on bare land when needed. Of course, he then added, "just make sure you don't drive _too _fast and break an axel or burst a tire," which didn't do much to reassure Hogan, but it would still be faster than walking.

After the three of them left, Carter joined Kinch and Baker by the radio. Since the previous night's meeting did not happen, they hoped that the underground would contact them again. They also hoped that London would call in with an explanation for all of this, but none of them said that aloud.

About half an hour into their vigil, the radio crackled to life, and the two men focused intently on it. A few minutes later, Kinch looked up at Carter, his expression serious.

"That was Grumpy. He wants us to meet Sneezy at the Hammelburg Dinner Theater in two hours to give us the information. He says it's important and time sensitive, but he won't say anything else."

Carter looked at the other two uncertainly. He had sprained his ankle two weeks before, and while it was basically healed, he did not want to leave camp without backup. "The Hammelburg Dinner Theater is on the outskirts of town, on this side. Could one of you come with me, just in case?"

"I don't know, Andrew," Kinch said slowly. "Olsen might be a safer choice."

"The Colonel might need him if something goes wrong with his search."

"He is the best choice for that," Baker agreed, "and most of the other men don't have much outside experience."

Kinch looked at the two of them, clearly not liking this idea very much but unable to argue with their points. "Okay," he said at last. "I'll go with Andrew, but if anything looks like it might go wrong, we come straight back, underground information of no. No unnecessary risks, and no lollygagging."

"Right," Carter agreed, relived that he did not have to go out alone.

"Carter, you wear civilian clothes, and I'll wear black, with a mask. I'll stay outside. You go in, get the information, and come out again."

Carter and Kinch left shortly after that, with Baker in charge of the radio. They made good time, and Carter's ankle barely protested the entire hike, but that was where the good news ended for them.

As Carter walked inside the theater, he glanced around for Sneezy, but did not see him. It was still slightly before the scheduled meet time, so he sat at a table near the door leading backstage. It was in the shadows, and no one would notice him leaving the theater itself abruptly if he needed to get out. Still, backstage areas were often set up as mazes, so Carter hoped it would not come to that.

He turned his attention to the stage, and saw with some disappointment that it was empty, apparently between acts. But when his eyes landed on the production description, he was glad that he did not have to sit through it. He really did not want to know what "The Ridiculous Behavior of the Allies: Why We Will Beat Them" was all about.

But after only a few minutes of waiting, the door backstage opened, and a man tried to slip furtively out into the crowded room. He saw in an instant that it was not Sneezy. No, instead it was Colonel Crittendon.

The British Colonel's eyes fell on him immediately, and a relieved smile broke out over the man's face. "I say," he said, coming over to Carter. "I was a bit worried when I forgot to tell Hogan I was leaving the star ship to come into town."

Carter was about to try to get the colonel to quiet down when another man suddenly came through the door, one Carter did not recognize but who apparently was looking for Crittendon. "There you are!" he exclaimed. "I was afraid you'd gotten lost. Is this your partner? Good, now get back on the stage!"

Before Carter or Crittendon could do anything, the man grasped their arms and hustled them backstage, through the darkened wood and brick hallways and into a small greenroom with an absurd number of costumes scattered around.

"You're on stage in three minutes!" he shouted at them as he slammed the door. Carter did not hear his footsteps leave, and knew with a sinking heart that the man was waiting for them outside.

"What's happening?" he asked Crittendon as quietly as he could.

"It seems the real act here had to cancel, and I was mistaken for the replacement act they said they would send. I tried to get out of it by saying if my stage partner did not show up, I couldn't perform, but we can't use that excuse anymore, now can we?"

Carter looked around at the costumes, wondering if there was anything they could do to not get caught in Crittendon's lie at this point, but the man outside suddenly bellowed, "Two minutes!" Suddenly he realized that as unappealing as it sounded, their best hope was to be thrown off the stage for bad acting.

He saw a costume that was about Crittendon's size and shoved it at the man. "Put this on, and _try_ to make sure no one likes you out there."

Two minutes later, Colonel Crittendon stood on stage dressed as a matador and hoping that this was one of those bullfights where no one got killed. Carter stood out of sight to the side, unable to see the audience's faces beyond the lights and hoping that Kinch intercepted Sneezy on his own, because there was no way he could make that meeting now.


	4. D is for Dossier

D is for Dossier

"A group of papers that contain detailed information about someone or something"

* * *

Tiger found herself milling among the crowded street in Dusseldorf, making sure she did not approach the auction arena too directly. While she did not want to spend too much time in public and run the risk of being recognized, she did not want to attract attention by heading to the auction too purposefully. Thankfully there were so many mother-aged women here for her to blend in with, although she noticed only a few actually had children with them. "They probably don't want to disappoint the children if they can't afford the toys," she told herself.

Before too long, she found her way into the arena. It was surprisingly crowded, and she found herself struggling to find an ideal seat. She made sure to have an auction paddle in hand to better blend in, but it was just for show. What she was really interested in was what buyer number 26 bought.

Number 26 was a nervous contact who preferred to stay in the shadows but was excellent at passing along information for just that reason. Unfortunately that also meant that she and Tiger had to avoid personal contact at all costs, considering how disastrous it would be for the underground if they were both caught. That was the reason Tiger was at the auction. Number 26 would bid on at least one item, high enough to win, and Tiger would remember which one so she could come back later with her dossier on high-level German officers. It was too sensitive to pass on to any unnecessary carriers, so Tiger had to deliver it herself.

In the few minutes before the auction actually started, Tiger watched the people in the center of the arena finishing their preparations. After all the auctions that were held in the previous days as part of this "German Industry Week" Tiger thought they should be ready, but with the cattle auction in the day between the china and toy auctions, Tiger could understand the need to clean the arena thoroughly.

A man approached the stand, shuffled through some papers just long enough for the crowd to notice he was there, and began speaking. "_Guten Abend_. Today we continue our line of auctions honoring German Industry, and we begin now with one that no one can help but think of fondly—a toy auction. Now, the toys auctioned today are from the Schatze Toy Company, and here right now we have its owner, Herr Hans Schultz.

Suddenly Tiger saw a familiar figure making his way to the lectern. He was not in uniform, but she had visited Stalag XIII enough to recognize Sergeant Schultz anywhere. He spoke into the amplifier, his voice came through clearly.

"_Guten Abend_," he said. "Thank you all for coming to the toy auction. The Schatze Toy Company is not manufacturing toys at the moment, but we plant to begin again as soon as the war is over. But today, please think of your children as you bid for the toys, and try to bid for toys you know they will love."

It was a short speech, and delivered with a warm smile. Tiger could tell that Schultz was enjoying himself in this place where he was surrounded by things he could enjoy seeing, hearing, and knowing. It made her happy to see, and reminded of her cousin's son who she almost wished she could send a toy. But there was no point in supporting a company when the enemy might take some of the funds to further their end of the war.

She settled in as the auction began, paying attention to any mention of buyer number 26. Getting the files on the German officers to her contact would bring the war that much closer to an end. Then she could think about buying toys for her second cousin, not before.

* * *

Wilhelm Klink woke up with a groan. Getting older had its disadvantages, and even he had to admit he was aging when he woke up feeling every small disagreement from the day before still hiding in his bones. Klink had the feeling that he had not meant to fall asleep, though, and something in the back of his mind did not feel quite right. He opened his eyes, and the feeling that something was wrong got so much worse.

Wilhelm Klink did not sleep under bridges. Even if he did not come from an old, well-respected family, it was far too dangerous to spend any unnecessary time near bridges these days. They tended to be blown up with an alarming frequency. But here he was, outdoors and underneath a bridge.

He stood up as quickly as he could, gathering his coat around him and running a hand over the back of his head to clear away any dirt. With one more glance at the bridge above him, Klink hurried away, glad that no one was watching him nearly sprint out from under it.

He climbed the bank to the road, not seeing anything that looked remotely familiar. He was in a town that seemed fairly large, but it was night, and there were no lights other than the stars and moon. Klink hesitated at first, but walked over to a shop window, peering at the sign in hopes of getting some clue about where he was.

The first sign he saw was a poster, reading "Buy War Bonds," and the feeling that something was wrong flared for a brief moment before he realized what it was. The sign was in English. Not German. He was so used to the prisoners speaking and writing English that he did not notice at first, but not it was undeniable. Every sign he saw was in English, and looking down the street he saw an American flag. There was no chance that this would happen in Germany.

He looked down at himself and wrapped his coat more tightly around his uniform, glad for once that his hat was missing. He needed time and space to figure out what was happening, so he ducked into an alley, wondering all the time how his life had come to this.


	5. E is for Exigent

E is for Exigent

"Requiring immediate attention; needing to be dealt with immediately"

* * *

Wilhelm Klink, try as he might, just could not figure out where he was. He did find a newspaper with yesterday's date on it, but it was only called the _Daily Tribune_, which did not tell him much. He tucked it into his coat, hoping to read it later to look for clues, but his immediate priority was to find a place to hide, particularly because of his uniform. He could worry about where in the United States he was and how he got there later.

What he could tell was that he was not in a good part of town. Even in the darkness that told him the people here followed blackout rules very seriously, he could see that many of the buildings he passed were boarded up or falling apart, and some seemed abandoned altogether.

Suddenly he realized that was just what he needed—an abandoned building. Looking around, his heart shuddered at the thought of going inside one of these dilapidated structures instead of his comfortable quarters back at the stalag, but if he was going to hide from the Americans, it had to be in a place where no one would _want_ to look, and presumably where no one would want to hide, either.

Still, there was no reason he had to settle for the worst he could find, Klink decided as he looked at a building with a drooping roof at the end of an alley.

Klink moved on, hoping that no one saw him and asked to see his papers. He hoped no one saw him and asked him anything. He knew he had a German accent, and it would be patently obvious to anyone who heard him. With the need to stay in the shadows and not knowing the layout of the city, he had no idea how long he had been walking when he finally reached some more decent-looking buildings that still seemed abandoned. He walked around them, gently trying to open any doors or windows he found.

At last Klink was successful. It was a rather plain looking building, except for the gargoyles placed seemingly at random on various points of the building and the odd bits of rope hanging off the gargoyles, but Klink was too tired of walking and too willing to accept the strangeness of Americans to be picky at that point.

He let himself into the back of the building, and seeing a staircase just to the side, he began climbing, bypassing all the floors until he felt certain anyone who had to climb this many stairs every day was certain to go off and abandon the place. Finally on floor 15 he stopped climbing and carefully opened the door. There was no one in sight, so he crept along the hallway, gently trying each door he passed to see if they were unlocked and led to some place he could rest. It took over a dozen tries, but at last he found an unlocked door that led to a place clearly abandoned.

It was all that Klink could do to convince himself to lie down on the bare floor, but the fact that it seemed dusty rather than filthy comforted him some. He wished he had his hat, but since it never appeared under the bridge with him, that could not be helped. Besides, it was probably better than sleeping on a battlefield, even if it was far worse than anything his prisoners had. Maybe tomorrow he could figure out something else.

* * *

It was already morning when Klink woke up again. He was stiff from sleeping on the floor, and he was dismayed by how dusty his coat was, but no one had come in and arrested him in the night. He was hungry, but could not go outside unless he had clothes that made him look less German. Besides, he had no American money. Thankfully there was a sink with running water in here, so there was no need to worry about dying of thirst.

Klink had just finished washing his face and hair free of dust and was trying to clean up his coat some when he heard a strange noise. There was a hiss, and then a clunk, somewhere outside the building. Klink went very still, hoping that no one had found him, though what those noises would have to do with his discovery, he could not say. Still, he decided it might be best to look out the window.

The window had not been cleaned any more than the floor, and Klink could not see much through it. It was even worse than iced windows at the stalag, where he could at least count on the centers being clear. He almost turned away from the window and whatever might be outside it, but then he heard another noise, like footsteps, but coming from outside.

"I'm on floor 15," Klink told himself. "I can't be hearing footsteps from out there." But the footsteps continued, coming closer, and Klink decided he would rather see what was making them than wait for it to come get him.

With a mighty shove, he pushed the window up and, grabbing the windowsill, he leaned out.

What appeared before him was straight out of those odd American legends that the Furhrer would never allow. It was two people dressed up like lunatics and using a rope to walk up the side of the building—the pieces of rope hanging off the gargoyles suddenly made a lot more sense—and to make matters worse, Klink even recognized one of them.

"Batman!" he exclaimed before he could stop himself. The other two had already seen him, but he still wished he had not drawn their attention further.

"Colonel Klink!" the younger one, dressed in far brighter colors, exclaimed right back. "What are you doing here?"

Klink almost faltered at the recognition and the question, but his gift at babbling when nervous jumped in and saved him. "I'm chasing an escaped prisoner. After all, no one ever escapes Stalag XIII! How did you recognize me?"

"We keep up with the war news. But if the prisoner's already here, hasn't he escaped?"

"Not if I recapture him. We take our jobs seriously, not like people who use grappling hooks to walk up the sides of buildings," he sniffed.

"The bat rope is the best way to get up this building, and we need the view to plan our next move."

Klink wanted to ask what their next move was, since no one was ever able to resist his questioning techniques, but he decided to take a page out of Schultz's book an know nothing. Maybe if he knew nothing, they would not try as hard to capture him. "Bat rope, that's just what Hogan will probably use for his next escape attempt, but he will not succeed."

At that, Batman spoke up, but not to Klink. "Come on, Robin. We still have our job to do."

Batman and Robin started walking up the building again, and Klink ducked back inside, closing the window. This was bad. He had no idea how they recognized him on sight, but he knew that his hideout was no longer safe for him. Nowhere in this city would be, not if they had people who used "bat ropes" to climb buildings day and night.

There was only one thing Klink could do now. He had to leave the city. He had seen what looked like the beginnings of a forest off beyond Batman and Robin when he opened the window, and he decided that was where he needed to go now. It was to the north, he remembered. All he had to do was get there, and do it while not looking like himself.

Klink hastily put his coat back on again, and sadly removed his monocle. Very few people used them these days, favoring those bulky, tasteless glasses even if they only had one bad eye. Even though Klink knew he needed his monocle to see well, he needed to hide it. Batman and Robin knew who he was instantly, and he could not have that happen again. This place, wherever it was, was not a good place to be known as the kommandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany.

Without a second thought, Klink headed back down the stairs to the first floor and slipped out the back door again. He found North, wishing he had a compass to make it easier, and walked off. He saw people walking past the end of the back alley, and he quailed a bit at the thought of facing so many people in enemy territory who might recognize him, but he knew it was the only way.

And so, Kommandant Klink headed north, towards the forest just outside the city. He kept his head down, only grunting a bit whenever anyone spoke to him, and made good progress.

But he never once noticed that his monocle, abandoned of necessity for the moment, had never actually made it into his pocket and was instead lying on the dusty floor of an abandoned apartment on floor 15 of the affectionately nicknamed Gargoyle Building.

* * *

"Do you think he recognized us, Batman?" asked Robin after they reached the top of the building. "I know that mission in Germany was over a year ago, but maybe he somehow remembered us."

"Yes, he certainly did. But I don't think we have any reason to worry," came Batman's reply. "You see, in our costumes, he only recognized us as Batman and Robin, just like everyone else who knows us. He never associated us with two men who made a brief stop in his camp last year. In fact, I doubt even that Colonel Hogan would recognize us in costume."

"So what should we do? Capture him?"

"No, Colonel Hogan needs him as a cover for his operation. I'm sure he already has a plan on how to get Colonel Klink back. If he is still here after our current mission is over, then we can look into it."

And so Batman and Robin faded out of the story with barely any effect.


	6. F is for Flummox

F is for Flummox

"Confuse"

* * *

Despite Colonel Hogan's reassurances, Langenscheidt was still worried about everything that had happened that day, and Gruber was too. He had returned most things to normal operations, but he had become obsessed with inventory on everything in the camp. The prisoners were already counted multiple times a day, and the guards were supposed to either be on duty or be where they could be located, but there were hundreds of little things scattered throughout camp, and Gruber was terrified that if a person could disappear, so could they. This meant that even though the guards' patrols were back to normal, everyone was pulling double shift in order to make sure that everything was where it was supposed to be.

It did not help that the prisoners had seemingly had fun with the inventory lists at some point. According to the last item on Langenscheidt's list, he was supposed to find two broken gonculators in the back of one of the camp trucks. He decided he would look for them, just in case they were actually there, before giving his report and going to sleep.

Langenscheidt was in the back of the third truck, resting his feet for just a minute, when he heard several people approaching. He was just about to jump out of the truck and explain that he still had not found the gonculators when he heard the doors open and close. A moment later, the engine started, and Langenscheidt sat down again, grasping the side of the truck with one hand and the inventory list in the other. No one was supposed to be leaving the camp tonight, which meant that this was something the prisoners were up to. As the truck began moving, he swallowed nervously. He only had two options—try to recapture the escaping prisoners and hope that was what they wanted, or sit quietly in the truck and let them take care of whatever they were doing in their own time.

In the end, the decision was easy, and he took comfort in the thought that Sergeant Schultz would approve. Although, maybe the list of nothings only had seeing, hearing, and knowing. Langenscheidt could not remember Sergeant Schultz saying anything about _doing_ nothing.

But as the truck passed through the gates of Stalag XIII and rumbled along a twisting series of roads, Langenscheidt decided he would just go along with it and hope it turned out for the best.

* * *

"Oh-LAY, oh-LAY," Crittendon shouted in loud voice as he paraded about the stage in his matador's costume without seeming to look at anything. "I am a BRITISH SPY hiding in Spain, and to blend in I must CATCH all the angry bulls that I PURPOSELY set loose to run through the streets. They keep knocking people OVER and stabbing the buildings with their TUSKS!"

As it turned out, Crittendon was better at being a bad actor than Carter anticipated, and he was sure the man would be booed off any stage he'd ever heard of if Crittendon were actually at any of them. The problem was that the people at the Hammelburg Dinner Theater were expecting a performance that portrayed the Allies as ridiculous and guaranteed to lose the war. Crittendon was giving them just the performance they wanted, and the crowd was lapping it up. Carter thought for a few seconds about going on stage and giving the crowd just the opposite—a favorable representation of the Allies—but he decided that he would rather not be shot. It really showed how messed up the Nazis were that they would cheer Crittendon's performance on but probably execute anyone who actually did a good job.

Still, Carter figured this couldn't last forever, and there were still some things he could do to make the show shorter. He just hoped none of them backfired on him the way this last idea had. But the only way he could know for sure was to give them a try, so with a small shake to loosen his muscles, he plopped the Arab turban he was holding onto his head and sauntered onto the stage.

"I SAY!" Crittendon cried out, suddenly using a full British accent, much to the amusement of the far too easily amused audience. "You are not an angry bull!"

Carter just waved him off languidly, not saying a single word. With a smooth gesture, he lifted a hand in Winston Churchill's Victory sign before lowering himself to sit in the center of the stage, cross-legged and doing nothing. It had taken a good deal of courage to use an Allied symbol, but since he was supposed to be impersonating a parody of an Ally, he figured he might survive it.

Crittendon stalked around him, shouting random phrases about how the bulls were charging, but Carter did not react, and gradually Crittendon lost his momentum. The British colonel stood there for a bit, staring at Carter as an Arab Prince who sat still, doing nothing but holding up the Victory sign. After a few minutes of absolutely nothing happening on stage, the audience began to grow restless, just as Carter had hoped. Crittendon eventually muttered, "Oh bother," and walked off the stage, but Carter continued to sit there, even as his arm grew tired and shaky from staying upright for so long. He figured he just had to outlast the audience, and then he could escape with Kinch and Crittendon. Sneezy and his important underground information would just have to wait.

Carter eventually sensed that he was on the verge of victory over the audience if he could just hold out a little longer. But that moment was ruined when all of a sudden one of the audience members jumped to his feet and cried out. "He is doing a parody of that degenerate American 'art' where there's no real meaning!"

The audience responded instantly, thinking that Carter's act had been to sit motionless until someone realized what the act was. They leaped to their feet, laughing and clapping. The curtain came down in front of Carter, and for a moment he thought that he had managed to pull off an end of the show even though he had not literally bored the audience to tears.

But like so many things lately, that moment was ruined. The stage director grasped his arm again, shaking and congratulating him at the same time.

"That was brilliant! Inspired! The audience has never been happier! And as soon as intermission is over, you get to do it again!" Before Carter could protest, the man threw him into the greenroom with Crittendon again and slammed the door. This time they could hear the bolt being thrown on the other side as the man shouted, "I'm never letting this act out of my grasp!"

"I say, that was not quite what I expected my reunion with theater performance to be," Crittendon commented. "Do you have any ideas for what we should do next?"

"One," Carter admitted. "But it's going to be painful."

* * *

Author's Note: In this chapter, I originally wanted to have the audience member think that Carter was doing a parody of John Cage's 4'33, but I looked it up and found out he did not have it performed until 1952. I am not trying to call 4'33 "degenerate" by replacing the reference to it with the notion of degenerate art, but it was another spin on Carter's performance that worked in context. If anyone reading this does not know what 4'33 is, it might be something interesting to look up.


	7. G is for Galumph

G is for Galumph

"To move in a loud or clumsy way"

* * *

Kinch had no idea what was taking Carter so long, but he was starting to be concerned. Sneezy walked in over half an hour before, and so far neither man had come back out. Kinch wished he could see the back entrance from where he was, but he knew the importance of staying at the rendezvous point unless something happened to compromise it or make his presence elsewhere more important.

So far there had been no sign of unusual activity from the outside of the building, but that did not mean anything about what was happening inside. The entire Stalag XIII operation was based on that concept. Well, that and the tendency people had to ignore anything they did not _want_ to believe was true. Those two together were far more powerful than most people wanted to believe, and thankfully none of the Germans were trying to take Sherlock Holmes' observational skills to heart.

Of course, it did not take Sherlock Holmes to know that the longer a seemingly simple mission lasted, the more it meant that something unexpected was going on. And in the spy business, unexpected was not a good thing, especially with how much of it had been going around lately.

Kinch made up his mind. Carter knew how rendezvous points worked, and if he showed up and Kinch was not there, he wouldn't panic. At the same time, Carter's whole goal had been to get in and out of that dinner theater quickly. Kinch needed to know if the mission had gone bad, so he made up his mind. If nothing changed in the next ten minutes, he would find the back entrance and see if there was something amiss in the theater.

* * *

Carter explained his plan to Crittendon, who looked at him like he had grown an extra nose before muttering, "I say." Carter knew it wasn't a particularly good plan, not on the Colonel's level at all, but at this point he just needed to finish the production as fast as he could and get away. There was no way he could meet with Sneezy now that everyone in the theater was paying attention to him, after all.

The problem was with how Carter's plan would end, and his nearly-healed ankle throbbed just thinking about it. Even if all the dancing didn't aggravate it, the part following the dancing might result in anything from some bad bruises to a couple of broken bones. Still, he needed to get out of this theater before anyone memorized his face well enough to recognize him on future missions, which was why he had worn the Arab prince costume in the first act.

With that in mind, Carter looked down at his new outfit. No self-respecting cowboy would be caught dead in this, but at least it would draw attention away from what he actually looked like. The moustache seemed to be holding in place alright, he decided, so he took a deep breath, put on his fake cowboy hat and a pair of sunglasses, and knocked on the door. "I'm ready," he called to the bossy stage manager.

The man unbolted the door and opened it. He smiled when he saw Carter, but scowled at Crittendon. "Why isn't he in costume?"

"He isn't in this act."

"Then he isn't getting paid for it." Affronted, Crittendon looked at the stage manager but Carter held up a hand and he did not protest. The stage manager forced them back to the dark area off stage and pushed Carter forwards. "Get out there and make my audience happy again."

With that, he pulled a lever so the curtain came up, and Carter stepped out to be seen by all. Without angling his head, Carter looked down at the floor as he walked, stopping on the first trapdoor he found. It was off center, but honestly, Carter did not care at that point. As long as he could get the thing to collapse under him, he would be happy. If he could save himself from getting hurt, he could escape, and if he got hurt, the act would end and he could make his excuses to leave. Technically Crittendon was supposed to find his way to the understage area to help open the door and keep Carter safe, but Carter knew he should not count on it going to plan.

Crittendon slapped a record on the phonograph, and Carter winced a bit at the gentle waltz he had picked. That was not the right kind of dance music at all, but Carter began a vigorous jig anyway. It wasn't like he was trying to put on a good performance, after all, and the audience seemed to think it was part of the plan to make the Allies look ridiculous.

Carter tried not to look at the smiling audience, since they were laughing a bit too hard in his opinion, and his eves drifted to the door that led from the dining room to the backstage halls. Now that he was wearing sunglasses, he could see past the stage lights, and what he saw made his blood chill. Sneezy was there, looking confused and annoyed, and he was opening the door. Even with all this, he was still trying to make contact.

* * *

Kinch was confused about what was happening as he hid in the shadows backstage. Carter was wearing a ridiculous costume and being shoved on stage by an angry German man, and Crittendon was standing by seemingly without a care in the world.

The curtain went up, and Crittendon pulled a record at random out of a box and put it on the phonograph before thumbing through the others in the box.

"Well, these won't do at all. Do you have any others?"

The angry German turned to him. "You are the performers. You should have brought your own."

Crittendon shrugged. "We like to travel light."

The angry German walked away, saying that he was only doing this because the audience loved act one so much, and Kinch watched him go. No one else was backstage, so Kinch moved forward beside Crittendon.

"Colonel Crittendon," he said quietly, pulling his mask up, "what is happening?"

Crittendon jumped a bit, but thankfully did not cry out once he saw who it was. "I say," he breathed, "you gave me quite a scare for a moment."

"I'm sorry about that, but I need to know what's going on as soon as possible."

"Funny story, that. But it can wait. Right now I need to find the stairs that lead under the stage so I can open the trapdoor under your Sergeant Carter out there."

"Open the trap door? Why?"

"So we can escape, of course. Now, Sergeant, if you will let me by—" Crittendon moved to walk past Kinch, but the American stopped him.

"Colonel Crittendon, I think you should stay here in case that German comes back. I can get downstage and open the trapdoor for you."

"I suppose, but he asked me to help keep him from breaking anything. Given my experience with the theater, I like to think that I can find a safe way to let him down."

"I can promise to get him down safely," Kinch replied. "Besides, I'm taller, so it may be easier for me. If I go, that Kraut will not find anything wrong if he comes back, and you can make sure no one blocks that door over there. There's another door in the hall past it that leads outside."

Crittendon, seeing that he would still have an important role to play in the escape, readily agreed, and Kinch moved off to the door that led downstairs, thankful that he did not have to trust Carter's safety to Crittendon. Still, he hoped for a thorough explanation when this was all over.

* * *

Group Captain Rodney Crittendon watched the American Sergeant disappear down a flight of stairs. So far the evening had not gone well, in Crittendon's opinion, but the possibility of escape lifted his spirits. It seemed Hogan's men had a way of getting involved in everything Crittendon did whenever he was in Hammelburg, but they were decent chaps, so he did not mind. Besides, he himself had asked Hogan for help early that morning, so he was not surprised that they kept showing up.

Rodney looked down at his newly repaired hand in a fresh wave of amazement. The things that star ship could do were truly incredible, but he would have to leave all that to Hogan so he could finish his escape. When they talked earlier, Rodney noticed that Hogan seemed a bit stressed. Hopefully all the bells and whistles on the ship would give him a chance to take a break from the daily grind of prison life.

When Rodney looked up again, he saw another man looking at him from another part of the backstage area. It was not the stage manager, and Crittendon did not recognize him, but he walked towards Crittendon once he saw he had been noticed.

"A theater is a perfect place to talk about fairy stories, like Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs."

Rodney tried not to act surprised by the man's odd introduction. "I was always partial to her sister, Rose Red."

The other man nodded. "You are working with him, _ja_?" he motioned towards Carter on the stage, still jigging in place for all he was worth.

"I am. I've worked with him several times in the past, too."

The man seemed satisfied and nodded to himself before pulling out an envelope. "I am Sneezy. Please make sure Papa Bear gets this." With that, the man turned and left before Rodney could make any further comment. He put the envelope in his coat, though.

Suddenly there was a crash on stage and a gasp from the audience. Carter had disappeared through the trap door, and it was time for Rodney to lead the American Sergeants on to this their latest escape.


	8. H is for Hamartia

Author's Note: Fair warning, this is where it starts getting really wild. Last chance to back out is now.

H is for Hamartia

"Tragic flaw"

* * *

Oblivious entirely to the plights of Kinch, Carter, and Klink, the Stalag XIII truck lumbered on as Hogan, Newkirk, and LeBeau kept a close eye out for any sign of a gigantic arrowhead in a field next to an overgrown road. So far Newkirk and LeBeau had kept all comments about the strain finally getting to Hogan to themselves. After all, they could see how put out he was by Crittendon's message himself.

In the back of the truck, unnoticed by the prisoners, sat Langenscheidt. Before long, he had no idea where they were since the truck kept switching direction and travelling over bumpy ground. According to his pocket watch, it had been about two hours since they left camp, and he was getting very tired of the journey into the unknown, even if Colonel Hogan was the one driving the truck.

Suddenly, over the noise of the engine and the sound of bruises forming as he bumped against things, Langenscheidt heard LeBeau give a shout. "_Mon Colonel_!" The truck came to a sudden halt, and Langenscheidt was glad he was already leaning against the wall of the truck so he couldn't be thrown into it. The engine died as he massaged a new bruise on his shoulder.

"Blimey, Crittendon was telling the truth." Newkirk spoke softly, but Langenscheidt could hear him anyway. He heard the three prisoners get out of the truck and close the doors behind them before their footsteps moved away. Hoping he made no noise, Langenscheidt scooted over to the back of the truck and cautiously poked his head around the edge, wondering where the prisoners were going.

The sight in front of him was not what he expected at all. Instead of a trio of prisoners moving on to the next part of their escape route, as Luftwaffe personnel would expect, or a trio of saboteurs about to blow something up, as Major Hochstetter would expect, Langenscheidt saw three dumfounded men approach a gigantic shiny thing in a field. Newkirk was just reaching up to touch it and Colonel Hogan was looking back and forth, apparently trying to take in as many details as he could. The only thing that comforted Langenscheidt about this unknown situation was how surprised the prisoners seemed when the truck stopped, so at least Colonel Hogan was not lying earlier when he said that he was not involved in Kommandant Klink's disappearance.

Still, the mere fact that Colonel Hogan and his men were here now probably meant that he knew more about what happened than he told anyone back at the camp, and Langenscheidt decided that it was in his best interest to try to find out what. Schultz might be right that it is usually best to know nothing where the prisoners were concerned, but maybe this was an exception. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to get back in the truck and just wait.

Colonel Hogan pointed to something on the top of the shiny object, and the others seemed to agree with whatever he said. Then all three climbed on top and started walking further away. Langenscheidt waited about a minute before dashing over to the spot where the others had been standing next to the thing in the field. Looking down, he saw that Colonel Hogan must have pointed at a single track of muddy footprints moving across the top of the thing. All of a sudden he remembered that Newkirk mentioned Crittendon, and his eyes widened slightly when he realized that he must have meant the British officer who sometimes dropped in for a few days.

Hoping that he was not about to run into the British man himself, Langenscheidt climbed on top of the shiny thing and followed the footprints, like the prisoners had done a couple of minutes before him. They ended at a trap door, and reluctant as Langenscheidt was to get involved in anything too dangerous, he knew the only way to learn anything was to go inside the thing. Besides, Colonel Hogan probably wouldn't do anything too bad to him if he was caught—the American knew he had seen things in the past and had not done anything to make him disappear like other people.

Langenscheidt opened the door and started descending the stairs. He heard soft voices up ahead, so he ducked into a small nook at the very bottom of the stairs. All the walls in the nook were covered in buttons and switches, except for a few shelves with books, and there was a desk with odd shapes sticking out of it among all the buttons and switches that were indistinguishable from the ones on the walls. Langenscheidt sat down in a chair at the desk, removing his uniform jacket since it was rather warm in the alcove. That taken care of, he strained his ears to pick up on what the prisoners were saying.

"Well, Sir, it looks like a regular room to me." That was Newkirk's voice.

"_Oui_. Perhaps Crittendon has just made a mistake. It wouldn't be the first."

"No, it wouldn't. But that doesn't explain what the 'regular room' is doing here or how Crittendon spoke to me."

"If you would like a technical explanation, I can provide it," a new voice joined in. There were several sharp gasps, and then Colonel Hogan spoke.

"Who are you and how did you sneak up on us?"

"I am the HMSS Tubby III, private exploration and camping craft. My owner is not here right now, but I expect her back shortly. I had no need to sneak up on you since I am all around you."

"What does that mean?"

"I am the holographic interface for this star ship." The voice sounded quite bland, like this was such an obvious answer that it needed no further explanation. For his part, Langenscheidt was glad he was already sitting. The voice, very human sounding, claimed it was a _star ship_. Langenscheidt might not know exactly what that meant, but the prisoners in Barracks 11 had a science fiction club that met every other Wednesday, and they liked bouncing their latest story ideas off Langenscheidt every once in a while. This sounded just like something out of one of their stories.

"Now is that 'His Majesty's Star Ship' or 'Her Majesty's Star Ship?" Newkirk asked in a completely disbelieving tone. "And is the royal family enjoying their camping trip in the middle of a war here on planet earth?"

"Newkirk!" Colonel Hogan reprimanded, but the star ship's voice spoke up anyway.

"I am a 'High Mileage Star Ship,' designed for long trips in remote areas. My planet of origin does not have a royal family. It is ruled by a network of rival artificial intelligence systems. My owner, however, does seem to be enjoying herself despite your human war. Better than I have ever recorded before coming to this planet, in fact."

"And who _is_ your owner?"

Langenscheidt barely heard Colonel Hogan's question, the implications of all he heard already were too much. Aliens were real, and if he learned anything from the men of Barracks 11, that was never a good thing. They liked attacking Paris and New York and London, and according to the men of Barracks 11, they had taken a recent interest in Berlin, too. Here was evidence to support all that the prisoners had told him. There were aliens in Germany, and they enjoyed war! The men of Barracks 11 had to be involved in this for them to have so much information, and they had kept it secret from Colonel Hogan as well. This was not good, this was not—

Langenscheidt had not noticed when he started to pace, but all of a sudden he found himself rather faint and moved to sit down. He stumbled to the chair, leaning his head on his arms and propping his elbows on the desk.

Too late, he realized it was a very bad idea. He felt something give under his elbows, and he remembered that the desk was covered in strange shapes and buttons and switches. He jumped back just as a popping and hissing started coming from the desk. Something exploded, and there was a yell from outside the nook.

Langenscheidt got up, staring at the ruined desk in front of him. He wished now that he had taken Sergeant Shultz's advice. It had never failed Schultz, and he felt like a fool for not taking it seriously enough.

He turned to the entrance to the alcove, gulping before deciding he needed to face Colonel Hogan and own up to his actions. He pulled back the light curtain covering the nook's entrance and stepped out, the stairs leading up to freedom on his left and the room with the potential alien overlords and angry prisoners on his right. He turned slowly to his right and walked into the room, looking around and spotting a small group of people in one corner amid a small cloud of smoke slowly dissipating.

Three of them were sitting on the ground, and the other three were looking at them instead of watching Langenscheidt. "Wait," he thought, "that makes six. There were only four voices." He stepped closer, trying to see who was who.

Newkirk and LeBeau were standing with a strange man next to them, and Langenscheidt guessed he must be the voice of HMSS Tubby III. He then looked to the people on the ground, and his heart dropped to his stomach.

Colonel Hogan was there. In fact, there were _three_ Colonel Hogans there, and they were all staring straight at him.


	9. I is for Impetus

I is for Impetus

"A force that causes something (such as a process or activity) to be done or to become more active; a force that causes an object to begin moving or to continue to move"

* * *

"Colonel?" asked Newkirk as he stared at the three Hogans getting up off the floor. Only one turned to look at him, though.

"Newkirk, I don't know either. Now will someone please explain?"

"I say, that is quite easy," said HMSS Tubby III. "It seems your friend here punched the duplicate beam and you happened to be standing in the way."

For the first time, Newkirk and LeBeau turned to look at Langenscheidt. "What are you doing here?" Newkirk asked angrily, and LeBeau joined him in French.

Langenscheidt backed up a few steps, knowing he was at a distinct disadvantage here. "Please, I was looking for the broken gonculators in the truck, and then it drove off with me in the back. I followed you in here to see if the Kommandant was here. I only pushed the buttons on the desk by accident."

"Accident was it? Then maybe you can accidentally fix the Colonel here?"

The three Hogans gave a simultaneous cry of, "Hey!" but Newkirk ignored it, clearly not wanting to turn his attention away from the only German in the room. Langenscheidt only shrugged, not knowing how he duplicated Colonel Hogan in the first place and certainly not knowing how to undo it. Besides, he was pretty sure the desk with the buttons was not supposed to explode, and HMSS Tubby III knew it too.

"Unfortunately the equipment was badly damaged due to the subsequent 'self-destruct' command. There is no way to undo the duplication from this ship, and even if there were, there is not enough power. The only functional systems right now are the lights and this holographic interface."

"I resent that!" said one of the Hogans. "I don't care if I'm a duplicate, I have the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness!"

"That's right!" another Hogan perked up suddenly. "The pursuit of happiness! How did I not think of that before?" Everyone turned to stare at that Hogan, not knowing quite what to make of the dreamy expression and dopey smile that suddenly covered his face. The only person who did not seem surprised was the first duplicate Hogan.

"Robert!" the first duplicate exclaimed. "Get your head out of the clouds! We have so much work we can accomplish for the good of the world!"

The second duplicate, Robert, apparently, pouted at him. "You can go work on your plans yourself, Edward. I want nothing to do with them. Besides, they're probably for something dumb, like the war effort."

"Who cares about the war effort?" Edward retorted. "All we need to do to make the war end is convince the Germans to stop fighting, and I know just the way to do that." He gave a grin and bowed with a flourish, not looking like Colonel Hogan one bit in that moment.

""Okay, okay, calm down you two. Now I need one of you to explain to the rest of us what's going on. You start," Colonel Hogan pointed at Edward as Robert pouted some more and crossed his arms.

"Very well. I am R. Edward Hogan, otherwise known as Edward the Dramatic. I am destined to be the greatest film producer this world will ever know. My films will bring world peace and end poverty and hunger. They will inspire all who see them to join my cause and believe in the hard work and pioneering spirit of the American way!"

While Edward did seem to live up to the "dramatic" part of his name, that still did not explain Robert, whom Colonel Hogan pointed at next.

"I am Robert E. Hogan, otherwise known as Robert the Romantic. I believe you're all nuts and the only way to end this war is through the power of true love. If everyone falls deeply in love with people from other countries, no one will want to attack anyone anymore." Robert ended with a long, forlorn sigh. Then Colonel Hogan, the original, pointed at Langenscheidt.

"I hope you have a good explanation for this."

Langenscheidt shrugged. "It is like I said earlier. I pressed the buttons by accident. I was worried about the aliens invading like the men from Barracks 11 always tell me about."

"Barracks 11?" Colonel Hogan asked.

"That's right, Sir. Langenscheidt is the guard who monitors their science fiction meetings," Newkirk replied, and Langenscheidt nodded.

"Colonel Hogan? Did the aliens take the Kommandant?" he asked.

Edward could not have looked more excited at the prospect, but Colonel Hogan only looked like he had a headache as he turned to HMSS Tubby III. "Ask him, not me."

"The power core was damaged last night, and most of my systems became unreliable then. It is possible that the communications equipment malfunctioned and fired off the teleportation equipment. The two systems are linked in a randomized bluffing arrangement to prevent the artificial intelligence rulers of my origin planet from breaking the rule of civilized warfare."

"The _rule_ of civilized warfare?" Colonel Hogan started. "Never mind. I probably am better off not knowing."

"Who cares about civilized warfare when the goal is to prevent all warfare?" Edward asked, clearly fed up with Colonel Hogan's attempts to get a look at the big picture.

"That's right," Robert agreed. "If there were no warfare, then no one would have to worry about whether it was civilized."

"This is not the point," broke in LeBeau, speaking for the first time since reprimanding Langenscheidt in French. "We need to know how to get everything back to normal or our worries are only just beginning." Newkirk gave him a disbelieving snort.

"I don't know what to be most worried about—the Colonel duplicated by aliens, Klink kidnapped by aliens, the alien star ship, Crittendon of all people finding the alien star ship, or that there are at least three alien star ships named 'Tubby.'"

"There is no need to worry," HMSS Tubby III tried to say. "My owner is merely on an enjoyable camping excursion."

"And who and where _is _your owner?" Colonel Hogan asked, and Langenscheidt remembered HMSS Tubby III had not gotten a chance to answer before. He did not get it that time either, because Edward the Dramatic decided it was a good moment to jump in.

"This is boring. Nothing exciting ever happens when people go camping, unless they get chased by bears or caught in an avalanche. Otherwise it's just people singing trite songs around a fire while roasting bits of meat and complaining that there are rocks in the ground."

"You're right. It is not an ideal experience at all, at least not unless you focus on the beauty of nature rather than trying to find comfort in it." Robert did not miss all the others staring at him. "What? I'm a Romantic. I look for idealism and perfection in nature."

"I thought you believed in true love," Edward countered.

"Unlike 'dramatic,' _my_ title has more than one meaning. Your lot is to create dramas, but mine is a far broader calling encompassing both nature and my lady love," cried Robert in a rapture of elevated social standing, as he saw it at least.

"Your lady love?" asked Colonel Hogan. "And who exactly is she? You haven't even been around for an hour yet, so how can you possibly have a lady love?"

Robert stopped and seemed to think about that for a moment. Then he seized Newkirk's arm and began backing to the staircase and the trapdoor above it. "I know where to find her. You have focused on being a Colonel and being a prisoner and being everything else that you waste your life on for far too long. You are more interested in warfare than in true love, Colonel Robert E. Hogan the Unromantic and Undramatic. And now, I must win your lady love from you and show her who _I_ am!"

And then, with that very dramatic speech, Robert the Romantic pulled Newkirk outside the doors of HMSS Tubby III and to the Stalag XIII truck while yelling, "I'm coming, Tiger!" LeBeau and Colonel Hogan instantly tried to chase him, a stunned Langenscheidt scrambling out of their way, but Edward the Dramatic jumped in front of the staircase to block them.

"Let him go. He is only following his heart, just as I must follow mine and you must follow yours. Go back to your prison camp, Colonel. It is where you belong. Robert and I are free, though, and we must do what we must do."

"Your Robert the Romantic has our Pierre with him," LeBeau argued, and it seemed to give Edward pause.

"That is true. Why should _he_ have what I do not? It is not the way of us Dramatics to settle for less. Come on, Corporal LeBeau. I need your help for my first great film, the one that will turn all the Germans to the Allied Cause!" With that, Edward grabbed LeBeau's arm, fully intending to take the Frenchman with him. Colonel Hogan just as quickly grasped his other arm. "Well, well," Edward chucked, "I suppose must thank you for giving me a chance at a dramatic exit, Colonel."

With that, Edward reached through the curtain to the alcove where Langenscheidt hid earlier and pulled out a thick book. Before Colonel Hogan could quite process what it was, Edward threw it at the Colonel's head. It hit, stunning him, and dramatically bounced off to hit Langenscheidt, knocking him out. Edward pulled a fighting LeBeau up the steps with him while Colonel Hogan tried unsuccessfully to recover in time to chase them.

Seeing that LeBeau was still struggling and fearing that Edward would do something to hurt him too, Colonel Hogan did the only thing he could. "LeBeau, make sure he doesn't ruin the operation. I'm counting on you!"

Colonel Hogan held on long enough to see that LeBeau got his message and had stopped struggling. Both LeBeau and Newkirk were perfectly capable of handling themselves and these duplicates, but only if they actually tried instead of fighting it.

The next thing Colonel Hogan knew, he was lying on the floor, just opening his eyes. HMSS Tubby III stood over him with an apologetic look on his face. "I say, it seems the medical facilities are not working at the moment, but we have a few ice bags in the kitchen."

Colonel Hogan groaned and lay back down. What he wouldn't give to go back hours and stop Crittendon from stumbling onto this star ship in the first place.


	10. J is for Jocose

J is for Jocose

"Very cheerful"

* * *

Kinch had not found it hard to locate which trapdoor Carter was on, considering the series of loud thumps directly overhead. From there on, it was not hard to find the lever that would pull the trapdoor down, and Kinch was left with the task of making sure his friend fell safely. Thankfully the Hammelburg Dinner Theater seemed to use this area as extra prop storage, and there was a large prop bed in one corner. Kinch grabbed the mattress and pulled it over to the place on a table under the trapdoor, wincing a bit for Carter's sake as there was no way even a single mattress could cushion a fall. He grabbed a couple of other cushions off a nearby sofa, but there was nothing else that could help.

He walked over to the lever, breathed a small prayer, and gave it a yank. Carter came falling through the door, bashing an elbow on the side, and crashing onto the cushioned table. The table, for its part, did not like that very well, and after a split second for it to groan, it fell apart under the force of Carter's fall with a horrible clatter of breaking wood.

Kinch dashed forward, pulling Carter to his feet and wrapping an arm around him in case his ankle decided to take a turn for the worse again. "Crittendon is waiting for us by the door," he whispered before Carter could ask. "We need to hurry before someone decides to look for you down here." Carter nodded, and the two hurried upstairs.

"I say," Crittendon said happily as soon as he saw them, "that plan worked marvelously."

"Yes, it did. Now let's get out of here," Kinch reminded him.

With that, the three men hurried through the doors to the outside and slipped into the shadows under the trees as fast as they could. When they were a good distance away from the theater, Kinch brought them to a halt.

"Okay, before we go any further, Andrew, are you alright? I tried to soften your fall, but I don't know how well it worked."

"Hm? Oh, I think I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You keep wincing. Is your ankle okay?"

"Well it's a little bit stiff, but what's really bothering me is my elbow. I hit my funny bone on the way down, and I can't really feel much right now."

"Okay. We'll get back to camp and have Wilson look at it. In the meantime, did you get a chance to meet up with Sneezy?"

"No, but I think he was headed backstage to look for us before I fell."

"Too bad. I hope it wasn't anything too urgent."

"Oh, actually I think it was. It would have been nice of the chap to tell me at the time, though." Crittendon joined in. Carter and Kinch looked up at him in surprise to see him perusing a set of papers, an opened envelope tucked loosely under one arm.

"You met up with Sneezy?" Carter asked.

"Yes. He just walked up to me and started babbling about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs."

"That was the opening identification code," Kinch explained. "How did you respond?"

"Oh, I just told him the truth that I liked Rose Red better. I have nothing against your American movies, but that Walt Disney of yours will come to nothing if he keeps changing classic fairy tales like that. And then this man, Sneezy, gave me this envelope, but I didn't have a chance before now to look it over."

"You completed the identification code by accident," Kinch realized.

"What does the letter say?" asked Carter.

"This? It's about an ammo dump in a field outside Hammelburg. It says something about getting rid of it being a top priority and to please take care of it within the next two days."

"Two days!" both Carter and Kinch echoed in surprise. There was something about the cavalier way Crittendon delivered the information that did not match his words.

"Yes, two days. Funny, the place on this map looks like where I was walking last night. I remember seeing some people working in a field and thinking it was mighty funny."

Kinch was eager to get back to camp and consult with the Colonel before making any decisions. "Well, the ammo dump will just have to wait. We have other problems right now, and we don't have any explosives with us right now."

"Gentlemen, as the ranking officer here, I have decided that we will blow up this ammo dump tonight."

"But we don't have any explosives. Not unless you want to go back to camp and get some, but by then it will be awful close to morning and we can't miss roll call." Carter reminded them.

"True to both points. But with my keen sense of observation and stellar memory, I seem to have picked up on something that you missed."

"What?" asked Carter warily, in great contrast to Crittendon's smiling.

"The building across from the Hammelburg Dinner Theater was the Chemical Quality Testing and Refining Laboratory. If they don't have what we need to blow up an ammo dump, then my name is not Rodney Crittendon."

"You want to break into a German laboratory and hope that we find enough of the right chemicals to build a bomb before the night is over?" Kinch stopped himself just short of saying, "That's crazy," but Carter knew he was thinking it. Crittendon, however, was in a jocose mood and did not see anything amiss with that assessment.

"How hard can it be? After all, no one will be there in the middle of the night. Now come along, Sergeants." Neither American was able to pull rank on the British officer, and despite their misgivings, they had no way to convince him just how bad of an idea it was.

* * *

What Crittendon clearly did not know about laboratories was that it was not particularly unusual for scientists to stay late working on their experiments. Sometimes it was because there was a really long sequence of events that could not be stopped without affecting the experiment. Sometimes it was because certain tests needed to be conducted at exact sequential times. And sometimes it was because the scientists involved just had bad time management skills.

It is not important why a grumpy scientist was still at the Chemical Quality Testing and Refining Laboratory in the middle of the night, it is only important that he was there. It is even more important that he noticed three men breaking into the building. He was not close enough to see what they looked like, but he knew that he was the only one who should be in the building at that moment.

The scientist ducked back into his laboratory, closing and locking the door behind him. He stuffed a towel by the crack under the door to keep the light out of the hall and turned back to his experiment. He had been working on this for six and a half hours, after all. The Gestapo could wait another thirty minutes while he finished and cleaned up.

* * *

"See? Breaking in here was simple. With such a good start, how can anything go wrong?" Crittendon said cheerfully to his two doubtful companions. He knew they did not enjoy this, but really, there was an ammo dump that they had to get rid of. There was no point in putting off till tomorrow what they could do today. Remembering that Sergeant Carter was in charge of explosives back at Hogan's command, he turned to the young man, still dressed like a cowboy. "Now, where will we find what we need around here?"

"There should be a chemical store room somewhere around here. There might be more than one, but if not, it will probably be centrally located. It will also be pretty big, especially if they do a lot of chemical testing around here. They'll need to keep enough materials for all the tests, see, and—"

"Alright, Carter. Keep it down. This place looks empty, but you never know," Kinch reminded him. He figured Carter was just nervous about sneaking around in this new place in enemy territory, but he still needed to be quiet.

"Aha, I think I've found it!" Crittendon suddenly called out, loudly enough to make even Carter cringe at the thought of being overheard. But Crittendon was right, and Carter instantly set about finding the materials he would need. They carried everything into a nearby laboratory that someone had thoughtfully left unlocked for them, and Carter started setting up. It took a lot longer than Kinch was used to seeing Carter need, but the other sergeant just told him that it was because he had no idea where anything was located here. Kinch also thought that it was because Carter was having such a good time looking over the supplies that were not in his own laboratory, and he decided to try to make a list of what Carter seemed to want most. Maybe London could send them a special supply to make up for them having to deal with Crittendon. After all, both London and Crittendon were British.

"Okay, I think I've got all I need," Carter told them at last. Thankfully we're blowing up an ammo dump, so we don't need a very big bomb if the Underground's information is correct."

It was nearly an hour after they arrived at the lab when Kinch heard a door at close in the distance. He instantly went on alert, motioning to the other two to be quiet. "I think someone's here. We need to get out now." His voice was very quiet, barely a whisper, but the other two knew he was right. Not even bothering to put their partially-finished bomb away, and glad that they were all wearing gloves, the three Allies opened a window and climbed out, taking care to hide in case there was anyone waiting for them nearby.

This time no one, not even Crittendon with his happy-go-lucky attitude, argued against going back to Stalag XIII. But as they climbed a hill leading into the forest, Carter turned to look back. He grabbed Kinch's sleeve and pointed through the open window.

Inside they could see Major Hochstetter and his Gestapo followers burst into the room. The sight of the bomb gave them a brief pause, until someone handed Hochstetter a white lab coat. He seemed to argue against wearing it, but finally gave in and put it on while several of his men started looking for clues as to the intruders. At that point, Carter, Kinch, and Crittendon turned and fled, hoping that no one would try to follow them.

A few seconds later, the partially finished and very unstable bomb exploded behind them.


	11. K is for Kaput

K is for Kaput

"No longer working; no longer able to continue, completely ruined or defeated"

* * *

Although Colonel Klink had not been kidnapped by aliens in the traditional sense, merely accidentally displaced by them, the effect on the others was still the same. The Kommandant went missing and no one knew where he was or how to get him back. If they had known he was stranded in the United States, the prisoners might have been able to make contact with someone who could try tracking him down, but not without revealing to Klink that there was something very suspicious going on with his camp. In essence, Colonel Klink was on his own in an enemy country, so he fell back on the old standby of protecting himself and staying alive.

It did not take as long as Klink expected for him to get out of whatever city he was in. At that point, he found that he did not care as long as he could stay safe, and so he tried to keep to himself. There were inevitable interactions with people who said things like, "Watch where you're going, buster!" or, "Look, Mom! I helped the grumpy old man cross the street! I can get my badge now!" But he did his best not to get caught up in it too much. He was mainly worried that someone would see his uniform under his coat, but as the day wore on, it was harder to keep the coat on. This was evidently a warmer climate than his own, and all the exercise was not helping.

But eventually Klink escaped the city and found himself in a forest. He still had to keep the coat on, since he was following a trail and had no idea if he would run across anyone, but at least now he could look up and around himself without fearing that someone would recognize him as the kommandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany.

After a few hours, Klink was both tired and thirsty. Walking in the woods was difficult work, with the hot sun beating down and the hard earth making his feet sore. If this was what it was like to escape from Stalag XIII, then no wonder his prisoners never succeeded. But Klink was not like them. He had an iron will that would not let him back down. Besides, he always tried to make Stalag XIII sort of a home away from home for the prisoners. It was not ideal, but he imagined it was better than trying to walk through the woods day after day with no real idea about where to go. If Klink could be back at Stalag XIII right now, he would definitely go.

Klink was just wondering how the guards were getting along without him, thankfully Gruber was there to lead them while he and Schultz were gone, and hoping that none of the prisoners had made the mistake of trying to escape again when the trail suddenly came to a small clearing. He paused and looked about him, but he did not see or hear any unnatural noises, so he decided to step out of the trees.

In the center of the clearing, just on the top of a small ridge, was a small shack, or cabin. It was smaller than the prisoner's barracks, but it looked well-made. There was no smoke coming from the wooden chimney, which Klink was grateful for as soon as he realized it was wooden. What kind of a lunatic would build a wooden chimney? It would have to be lined with something, and then what would be the point of having an outer wooden layer? It did not make sense to him, but it also did not seem to be inhabited, so Klink moved forward towards the cabin.

He stepped onto the small porch, a doorstep, really, and knocked on the door. There were no sounds from inside, so he rattled the lock a bit. The door held firm, and Klink let out a small noise of disappointment. Just on the off chance, he pulled out his keys from Stalag XIII and began trying them one by one.

Although he hoped for it, he was still surprised when one of them actually worked.

He pushed on the door, and it opened quietly, letting light into the cluttered room inside. Most of the items in the room were packed-up boxes, but there were some cabinets along the walls, and some benches around a table. There was even a stove, much like the ones in the barracks. A quick glance at the fireplace revealed that while there was ash in it, the interior of the chimney was also made of wood, and Klink found himself grateful that the owner was not home. Even if the owner didn't decide to turn him in, Klink had no desire to deal with anyone who would think this was a good idea.

Lighting a kerosene lamp just waiting on the table, Klink shut the door behind him and began looking through the cabinets. They had all the things he would expect in a cabin—bedding, canned food, a few cooking supplies, and even a small box of ammunition. Klink looked at it in surprise before looking around the room, his gaze landing on a rifle perched on two hooks over the door. Not only was the owner of the place a fool to build a wooden fireplace, he also left his gun lying around. Klink was glad he had not found this cabin in Germany.

He then moved on to the last cabinet, exclaiming happily when he found men's clothes. In fact, they looked like they just might fit him. Though the clothes were well used and in a very different style from what Klink was used to wearing, he decided that he had better change into them before anyone found him in his German uniform. He had just finished changing when he noticed a small box at the back of the cabinet. Pulling it out, he saw that it was full of…false beards?

Klink was starting to feel very nervous about this place. Something told him it was not what he thought at first, and he turned to the boxes still packed and stacked throughout the room. He got the idea that he would not care for whatever he found in them, but his curiosity got the better of him, a side-effect of dealing with prisoners who tried to hide anything they possibly could.

The first box he opened was filled with fine furs. The second box was filled with precious gems. And the third was filled with small pouches of gold. It was instantly clear that this was a smuggler's hideout, like in all those stories about the Old West in America. Klink knew that as tired as he was, he did not want any part with smuggled goods or the smugglers that would undoubtedly come back soon. His gaze strayed towards the wooden chimney, and he suddenly wondered what he would find up inside it. After all, the ashes could have come from the stove instead.

Still, whatever was happening here in this American forest was not really Klink's problem. His problem was finding a way to get back to Germany. While he did want to rest some, he did not want to be caught by the smugglers, so pulling a pack out of one cabinet, he grabbed some food and water and prepared to leave.

It was when he was putting his coat and uniform in the pack that Klink noticed something tragic. His monocle was gone. He remembered having it back at that building, but it must have fallen out of his pocket since then. He wondered if he could go back for it, now that he had a disguise. That might be a possibility. Still, he might need another disguise, so he picked up one of the pouches of gold and one of the furs to go in his pack.

One more thought made him decide to put on a false beard and hat, and then, taking the smugglers' rifle, because they really should not leave it lying around like that, Klink stepped out of the cabin and locked it behind him.

He decided to get away from the cabin as fast as he could before sitting down for a much needed rest. Then he would think about going back to the building with the gargoyles to look for his monocle. It was a small bit of home that he would rather not lose.


	12. L is for Luddite

L is for Luddite

"One of a group of early 19th century English workmen destroying laborsaving machinery as a protest; _broadly_, one who is opposed to especially technological change"

* * *

After showing Hogan and Langenscheidt where the ice packs were, the holographic interface for the HMSS Tubby III blinked out of existence and left them to nurse their own wounds. He said that it was because he could not do anything to actually help them and did not want to drain the star ship's power any more than necessary, but Hogan felt like the ship was just bored with them. From what limited medical experience he had, he did not think he had a concussion, but he was not sure about Langenscheidt and wanted to get him back to camp as soon as possible. Hopefully he could find a way to explain this and blame any—irregular—memories Langenscheidt had on a combination of a concussion and the Barracks 11 Science Fiction Club. It would not be the strangest thing he had ever explained, though the reality certainly was.

He was just about to try to start walking Langenscheidt back to camp, though he was not looking forward to it, when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He knew it was too much to hope that LeBeau or Newkirk had returned with a duplicate in tow, but he did not want to contemplate either of the alternatives—Crittendon or the alien.

Then the footsteps stopped. "What is this?" a voice shouted. "Who did this?" It was not Crittendon's voice, but what sent chills down Hogan's spine was that he recognized the voice. He hoped he was wrong, he dearly hoped he was wrong, but all he could do was hope she did not think to check the kitchen for intruders before Langenscheidt and he could escape.

"There have been several visitors within the past day," came HMSS Tubby III's voice. "Two of them are in the kitchen at this moment."

Angry footsteps came storming quickly towards Hogan and Langenscheidt, and Hogan looked frantically for a place to hide, but there was no cover within sight. Langenscheidt was still a little out of it and had not yet responded, but realization was slowly dawning on him too. Suddenly the footsteps were in the doorway, and Hogan turned, looking straight into the face of a very irate, blue-skinned Marya.

They stared at one another in shock, the first processing that the other was not just a nut but also an alien, and the second processing that the other had figured out her secret. Soon the shock turned into a glare contest, neither willing to look away first, until Marya marched over to Hogan and slapped him across the face—hard. Hogan, of course, had to look away for a brief moment when that happened, and when he turned back, she looked triumphant and spiteful.

"You have destroyed most of my star ship. You call yourself a Papa Bear, but you are really a Goldilocks." Marya said it as though it was the greatest insult of all time, and Hogan had to force himself not to look at Langenscheidt. Now he would have to add Hochstetter's wild theories to his concussion explanation, too.

"Yeah? Well, you dropped a star ship on the outskirts of my operation! What did you think would happen during a war? A free wash and wax?"

"You do it for your Colonel Klink all the time. Besides, your war does not have weapons capable of harming my ship. After the last two, I paid for the upgrades. And this time it is you who will pay!"

Hogan, not wanting to contemplate how much this star ship cost, did his best not to look intimidated. "I most certainly am not paying for your ship. You left it unlocked and unguarded. Besides, I wasn't the one who destroyed it!"

"That is true," broke in HMSS Tubby III. "I was first harmed when a different human came in and tried to remove the main power core. The core, of course, exploded, damaging the human. I fixed him, and he then placed a call to this one asking for his assistance in repairing me. This human came with two others, but he was followed by a third, this one over here, who activated the copy machine before destroying it."

That seemed to give Marya pause, and Hogan took the opportunity to step in front of Langenscheidt. Maybe the man did cause a huge problem when he duplicated Hogan, but leaving him to Marya would just be cruel. "He has a concussion. Let it go."

Marya was about to protest when a thoughtful look suddenly crossed her face. "I did not see any copies in the living room. What did this one copy, and where are your two companions?"

Hogan took a deep breath, wishing LeBeau was there to see Marya's true nature. "He copied me, and my duplicates both kidnapped one of my men and ran off."

Marya, as could be expected, burst out laughing, and Hogan could only wonder if this was better or worse than if she was still angry. He knew from previous experience that Marya was at her worst when she was looking for entertainment. He wondered if all aliens were like this or if it was just her, but then he remembered that he never saw her in the same company twice. Maybe there was a reason that was the case.

"Oh, Hogan. You are a fun person," she said at last. "And I suppose I can let your damage to my Tubby go if you help me repair it."

"And how do I do that?"

"It is easy. We just need to recharge the power source, like jumping one of your human car's batteries."

"Great. Where do we find something that can do _that_?"

"Don't worry about that now. I would much rather find out what happens with your copies. I have never copied a human before, and they should be even more entertaining than you are. Tell me, what are they like?"

"They're a couple of crazy kidnappers who think they can just run around Nazi Germany doing anything they please." Marya burst out laughing again, and Hogan realized with some chagrin that he had described both Marya and himself perfectly.

"Oh Hogan, darling, you _are_ a fun person. I will wait to see the end of this before I ask you to help me. I do not want any distractions from watching all three of you, though I do not like your friends."

"I'm sorry?"

Marya frowned towards Langenscheidt, pointing the odd alien hair coil on the side of her head at him. "Him and your first friend. I heard that you humans used to go around smashing machines for fun. I did not know it was still a pastime for you."

Hogan did not want to tell her that it was not. He refused to try explaining this to her, especially when he Crittendon had never given him a good explanation either.

"So tell me, what are you doing here on earth anyway?"

She shrugged. "I came to camp. Everyone says that the camping on earth is good fun if you hit the right season."

"But you've been here over a year now. You've had plenty of opportunity to 'hit' the right season."

"I came for the camping, but I stayed because your human wars are so much more fun than ours."

Hogan was not sure he wanted to hear the explanation for that, but he knew if he did not, he would regret it. "What do you mean?"

"On Moscow, that is the name of my planet," Marya explained proudly, "war is boring. The governments just launch missiles at each other to see who has best rapid defense system. It gets old after a while. Your wars here on earth are so much more…active. It is fun to trick the generals into doing what I want."

"Your planet's name is Moscow?" Hogan asked, hoping to stave off the headache her explanation of war had left him with.

"_Da_. It is why I am a Russian on your planet. It makes more sense that way."

"I suppose it does," Hogan sighed. Nothing about this made sense, but he was in no position to argue with any of it. He really just wanted to get back to Stalag XIII right now. Hopefully after a few hours' sleep he could wake up and find that this was all a bad dream. Maybe he accidentally ate in the mess hall instead of waiting for LeBeau to cook, or something like that.

But Marya had other plans. "Come. We must go back to your camp."

"_We_?"

"I told you, I do not want to miss this. Besides, you always work best from there, so that is where we should go. Let me just turn on the security system and we can be off."

Hogan wished he could argue, he really did, but the thought of the familiarity of the camp was just too appealing. Marya opened a closet door, flicked a switch on something that looked that a cross between a gorilla and a cowman, and announced that she was ready to leave. They took Langenscheidt and left in the car that Marya had driven here.


	13. M is for Milieu

M is for Milieu

"The physical or social setting in which people live or in which something happens or develops"

* * *

If the real Colonel Hogan had not told LeBeau to go along with this fake, Edward the Dramatic, then LeBeau would have fought him the entire way to Hammelburg. It would have been disconcerting to fight someone who looked so much like the Colonel, but LeBeau would have done it in his honor. He wondered how Newkirk was doing, assuming that since he had not met him on the road that Robert the Romantic was still on the loose.

"Where are we going?" he asked at last. Normally he would not be the first person to give in, but he hoped that if he got Edward talking, he would be able to figure out a plan for keeping the duplicate in line. Besides, if he spent the walk talking (because Robert took the camp truck), he might be too short of breath to keep walking so fast.

"To Hammelburg, to Berlin, to D.C., it does not matter! But here we are in Germany on the outskirts of Hammelburg, so that is where we will go. Fate has declared that we should be here."

"_Oui_, but where in Hammelburg. You cannot walk down the street whistling your American national anthem! They will arrest you and realize that you look exactly like Colonel Hogan."

"I will try to hide my true self eventually," Edward conceded. "It will be hard, but for the sake of world peace, I will do it." LeBeau got the impression that Edward was far more concerned about getting arrested and not being able to make his big production than what it would mean for the real Colonel and all the men at the camp. That more than anything convinced him that Edward was not simply another Hogan, like a brother, but selfish man willing to walk over anyone to get his way. He was glad the real Colonel trusted him to keep this impostor in line.

Edward had not told LeBeau as much as the Frenchman wanted to know, and he had not slowed down either. LeBeau considered asking him to, but then he remembered Robert dragging Newkirk away by the arm and realized that he would much rather try to keep up on his own. Besides, Edward was supposed to be the more dramatic of the two, and LeBeau did not like to think how that could play out. He shook away images of Edward throwing him over one shoulder in the name of Hollywood.

There was a benefit to Edward being a fast walker, however. Simply put, they arrived at Edward's destination far sooner than if they had used a pace that LeBeau liked. LeBeau looked around the building for a sign, but did not see one. It was not a particularly impressive building, looking much the same as any other in Hammelburg, and he wondered for a moment why Edward would come here. He decided that the duplicate could not be understood, however, and chose to not ask.

It was only as they approached the door that LeBeau saw a sign. It read, "Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society," but before he could think about what that meant, Edward had opened the door and stepped into a small foyer. It was not well-decorated, being a German foyer rather than a French one, but LeBeau could see that someone had tried. While Edward was bent over the guest book, LeBeau looked into the waiting room and saw pictures of women hanging all around the walls. Looking around, he saw none who were actually famous, but he thought he recognized some from his trips into Hammelburg and decided that they must be the members of the art society. Suddenly his eyes landed on one of Marya, and he found himself smiling. If she had her picture on these walls, then it might be a better place than he expected

Edward cleared his throat behind LeBeau, and the Frenchman turned around. "Come, LeBeau. We cannot wait any longer. We cannot wait for the people of this place to come to us; we must go to them!" He turned and started walking to the door at the end of the foyer, and LeBeau followed, pausing to make sure that the duplicate had not done anything stupid like writing the names "Hogan and LeBeau" in the guest book. To his relief, the man had written "Edward and the French Master Artist," but he had done so with so many dramatic flourishes that LeBeau could barely read it. He clearly had not been given the real Colonel's handwriting.

He then looked up from the page to see Edward pull open the door and step boldly through it.

Edward had a very dramatic stride, purposeful, jaunty, and eye-catching—the stride of a man who knew what he was doing. So when he entered the comfortably-furnished room, the eyes of nearly thirty people turned towards him. Of course, that may have been because he and LeBeau were the only men in the room, but Edward did not seem to care either way.

"Ladies, women of Hammelburg, fellow artists," he addressed them. "I have come for your assistance in a matter where only you can help. I need—"

"Pardon me, Sir," said a middle-aged woman, standing up and approaching him. "This is a society for ladies to gather and discuss great art. We do not take kindly to men showing up uninvited."

"And yet my companion and I have come on a matter of art. We have turned to you in the hope that you can help us create a work of art that we cannot do by ourselves. We would be deeply in all of your debts if you could lend us even a few hours of your time. A day's worth of your efforts, and the world will remember you forever."

"Bold claims and bold requests," the woman commented, appearing unimpressed but with a curious gleam in her eyes that LeBeau only just caught. She motioned to another, younger woman while turning back to Edward. "Go check the guest book. You have a Luftwaffe soldier with you, I see."

"Merely a ploy to avoid those pesky curfews that restrict our hearts from following the passions of art as soon as they flare to life. I do not know how late I will need to stay out tonight to follow my heart, but this my friend has donned this uniform to keep those who would arrest me and stifle my dreams at bay. I promise that he can do the same for you if the need should arise."

The other woman came back, book in hand. She showed it to the first woman. "Edward, eh? And what is your name, young French Luftwaffe soldier?"

It took all of LeBeau's willpower not to send Edward a deep glare for what he had told these women. It was not wise to tell anyone that they were using costumes, and now they all thought he was one of the collaborators. He had pretended to be one on occasion in order to help a mission succeed, but Edward's "dreams" were not a mission and were laughably far from bringing the war to any sort of end, despite what he claimed. But he put on his most charming smile anyway, hoping that if he could somehow bring her over to Edward's unknown plan he could keep them from alerting anyone.

"I am Louis. Edward and I refuse to use our surnames because we believe that someday our art will serve as our identities far better than a name ever could." It was a cringe-worthy lie, as there had been far too many famous Edwards and Louis throughout history for either of them to lay dominant claim to their names, but he needed an excuse for refusing to give their surnames. In a room with this many people, someone would be bound to remember them, and he needed to keep his promise to the real Colonel Hogan that he would not let Edward give the operation away. Edward was already coming far too close anyway.

"And you are a French master artist?"

"_Oui_. I am from Paris, and I have spent my life in the greatest museums of the world. I can tell you of the greatest beauties of the fairest city to exist. I can tell you of grand avenues leading past the homes of great philosophers, of gardens fit for the greatest kings of history, and of cuisine that has changed how the rest of the world cooks. Paris is the home of great artists and composers, dancers and singers, architects and writers. It is a city so in love with art that it perfumes the air all around."

LeBeau did not need to feign his love for his city, but he wished he did not need to use it as a distraction away from Edward's ideas of drama, which were far from the great art that he was using LeBeau to associate with himself. Still, the association worked, and as the women saw LeBeau's unabashed love for his city and the art found in it, they regarded him, and therefore Edward, as genuine.

"Very well, then. We will hear your idea for how we can help your art," the woman decided, and her statement was accompanied by nods of approval from the other women who were turned to LeBeau with admiration and, in the case of a few, adoration.

Edward the Dramatic, pleased with the invitation began. "Ladies, I believe that great art can inspire a great change in heart, and I believe that by creating movies shown simultaneously around Germany and perhaps the world, we can cause people to grow artistically together. I have an idea where we show everyone the greatness of our roots, and the world will stand in awe of them. It is a great service we can give them if we all work together, and I can capture everything I need on film by the end of the day if you will give my your support. You will star in my movie, and together we will change the world."

Whether it was due to the chance to be in a movie or the desire to see where this man was taking his ideas about art, the women did not do the sensible thing of throwing them out. Instead they listened to him, never knowing that he was talking about his American roots rather than their German ones. Several looked to LeBeau to see if he supported Edward and his idea, and LeBeau smiled briefly at them, which they seemed to take as reassurance.

"Funny," LeBeau thought, "usually the women try to follow the Colonel's lead. I guess even a duplicate of him cannot imitate him. But it is nice to finally be noticed." He knew it would probably get him in trouble, and some of the women did seem to fall under Edward's imitation of the real Colonel's spell, but for once, more women were looking to him for guidance than the American, and for the moment, that was rather nice.

Of course, as he soon discovered, moments only last so long.


	14. N is for Nonpareil

N is for Nonpareil

"Better than any other; having no equal"

* * *

After running from the Gestapo and the explosion at the Chemical Quality Testing and Refining Laboratory, Kinch, Carter, and Crittendon kept moving. They eventually slowed down enough to make sure they were not leaving an obvious trail for any potential pursuers to follow, but they did not stop until they reached Stalag XIII. Baker met them in the tunnels, raising his eyebrows in surprise at the sight of Carter in the cowboy costume.

"Do I want to ask?"

"You can listen when we tell the Colonel about it. Has he come back yet?" Kinch responded.

"No, and no word from the underground either. Did you make contact with Sneezy?"

"Colonel Crittendon did."

"And it's a good thing too, if I do say so myself," Crittendon chuckled. "Imagine if Jerry were allowed to get away with establishing an ammo dump in a perfectly good field. Well, we will just have to go back out and get rid of it as soon as we locate a good replacement bomb."

The three Americans exchanged glances. Baker did not know about the laboratory fiasco, but he knew the others well enough to see how unappealing that idea was to them. "We should wait for Colonel Hogan to get back from locating the star ship. He doesn't like us creating our own plans without his approval."

"Nonsense, I'm sure he won't mind one bit. Waiting on him will just give him more to worry about, and while he is the officer in charge of your operation, I do outrank him and am perfectly qualified to lead this mission. Besides, Sergeant Carter here is the explosives expert. All Hogan would contribute at this point is unnecessary flamboyancies. He tends to be a bit on the dramatic side, if you ask me." No one there knew the irony of the statement at that exact moment.

"If nothing else, we should wait until we know if the Gestapo is doing anything about the explosion at the laboratory. It may take a while to find out."

"What laboratory?" Baker asked.

"Colonel Crittendon decided it would be most convenient to build a bomb at a lab in town. The Gestapo somehow found out someone was there, and Hochstetter made a raid on the place."

"Hochstetter! Did he see you? Do you think he might be headed here for a surprise roll call?"

"No to both. In fact, after the bomb exploded in his face, we might not see him again at all."

"I don't think it would have done that much damage," Carter spoke up. "For one thing, I was building a small bomb since the papers from the underground show a bad setup for the ammo dump. All we need to do is set off a small explosion and the explosives already there will take care of the rest. Also, I wasn't finished yet. Hochstetter must have touched something that made it go off early, but it would have been even less powerful than I was going to make it."

"So you're saying that Hochstetter could still show up and demand a prisoner count?" Kinch verified.

"He might."

"Baker, we need to call the hospital to see if Hochstetter went there after the explosion. If not, then we need to get upstairs and pray that Colonel Hogan, Newkirk, and LeBeau make it back in time. Carter, get out of that costume."

Carter hurried off to do as Kinch said, having not wanted to leave before and possibly miss an important conversation. Meanwhile, Crittendon sat down and watched Kinch as he got ready to place the call to the hospital and Baker as he started sending a message to the underground asking if they knew of any Gestapo activity.

Kinch moved over to the phone area and cleared his throat before connecting the lines. He heard the phone on the other end ring before someone finally picked it up.

"Hammelburg Regional Hospital, front desk. This is Heidi speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"This is General Kinchmeyer. I need a status update on a Gestapo officer who was brought in tonight—a Major Hochstetter."

"_Ja_, the Gestapo officer. I cannot give any details over the phone, but he is still in the emergency room."

"Do you know how soon he will recover?"

"I am sorry, Sir. I do not have that information. But I can tell you that the doctors want to keep him here for at least a few days."

"_Danke_. I will send someone for more information later," Kinch said, ending the call. It was not as much information as he would like, but hopefully the underground could find out more. Still it told him that Hochstetter was injured badly enough that they did not expect him to leave immediately, but not so bad that they thought he would die. In any case, it did not look like they would need to worry about him coming to Stalag XIII before Colonel Hogan got back.

"Did the underground know anything?" he asked Baker.

"They said they have not heard anything, but they'll contact us again in the morning with an update. Also, they have a man in the records department of the hospital, so they said they would try to keep us updated on Hochstetter's condition."

"Good. I think we can rest easy that he won't be here tonight."

"I say, this is good news," Crittendon piped up. "We can continue with the plans for the ammo dump now. Sergeant, do you have a bomb already on hand for us to use?" This last part was directed at Carter, who came in just in time to hear Baker and Kinch's reports.

"Well, yes. It's not a very specialized kind of bomb, you know, and I usually have one or two like it ready to use in case of emergencies. My Great Aunt Polly used to tell me to always be prepared for company, and there was this time when my cousin and I—"

"Carter, slow down" Kinch interrupted. As much as he wanted Crittendon to be distracted by Carter's story and not try to take them out to the ammo dump again, he was starting to feel worn out from the night's adventures. "Colonel Crittendon, with all due respect, I know you want to take out this ammo dump as soon as possible, but I think it would be best if we get a few hours of sleep first. Carter is the best demolitions man you could hope to find, but it's never a good idea for _anyone_ to work with explosives when sleep-deprived."

"I suppose you are right, at that," Critendon admitted, looking thoughtful. Kinch's comment also reminded him of how long it had been since he had a good chance to sleep. He was on the road home for several days before finding the star ship, and even though he got some sleep in a back room of the Dinner Theater before it opened that evening, it was not restful. Hogan's camp, on the other hand, might not be the most comfortable place, but he knew he did not have to worry about Germans stumbling in on him while searching for a misplaced backdrop or something. Still, he did not like the idea of delaying too long. "Very well, we can get a few hours of sleep and be ready to leave again at 0300."

The Americans looked at him in surprise, as this barely allowed them three hours of sleep, but the British officer just walked off down the tunnel towards the guest quarters, confident that his orders would be carried out.

* * *

At the hospital, Hochstetter gradually became aware of a powerful headache. He did his best to ignore it, since headaches were one thing that he could never rid himself of by yelling, but it did no good. As much as he wanted to go back to sleep, he found himself waking up further and further, and his head hurt more each moment. Soon he realized that there was a bad pain in one shoulder and an alarming ache in his back. He wiggled his toes a little, some relief coming to him as he found that he could do so without pain. His back must not be too bad, he decided.

After a while, he realized he had no idea where he was, so he screwed up his courage and prepared to open his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that light hurts at first when you open your eyes, and he could already see light through his eyelids, so he knew it would be bad. Still, it needed to be done.

It was worse than he expected, and he let himself give a loud cry of anger before he remembered his headache. It was even worse now, and he forced himself not to yell again as his eyes adjusted. When he could finally see again, there was a man standing next to him, looking at him with that expression of utter terror he had grown to know and love on the faces of his underlings.

"Major? Should I get a doctor?" the man whispered.

"_Bitte_," Hochstetter replied, not noticing for a moment his word choice. "That's not right," he thought, "I meant to say "_schnell_.' This has to be the fault of Papa Bear. Who else would be preparing a bomb?"

A few hours later, or so it seemed to Hochstetter, a bald doctor with a disinterested expression came in the room. He started asking Hochstetter questions like how old he was, what the date was, what his name was, what the Fuhrer's name was, and other imbecilic questions that anyone who claimed to be as educated as a doctor was should already know. But to his horror, every answer that came out of his mouth was phrased politely. It reminded him of how his grandmother used to force him to be polite when he was little, and he hated it but could not make it stop. The only good thing about it was the looks on his underlings' faces. Somehow he had achieved new levels of terrorizing them, and he was almost ready to take that as a consolation prize.

That attitude vanished, however, when the doctor said he needed to stay there for at least two nights. His perfect chance to catch Papa Bear was gone, and it was all because of the hospital, but all he could do was say "_danke_" as politely as if his grandmother had taken him to lunch.

* * *

Author's Notes: Updates may get a bit sporadic from here on. I'm going to be travelling to family for Christmas, so I will update when I can, but it won't be nearly as regularly as it has been up until now. I will try to have the entire story posted by 2020, though, even if it means posting multiple chapters per day at some point.

About Hochstetter's headache, I once had a really bad headache where I tried to say something but a completely different sentence came out of my mouth. I think it was that I wanted salt but asked for a napkin, or something like that. My friends immediately had me go take a nap and checked up on me later, but my point is that headaches can sometimes do weird things to people. In Hochstetter's case, I decided he should become ridiculously polite.


	15. O is for Oblige

O is for Oblige

"To constrain by physical, moral, or legal forces or by the exigencies of circumstances; to put in one's debt by a favor or service; to do a favor for; to do something as or as if as a favor"

* * *

In the few hours that LeBeau had known Edward the Dramatic, he found himself wishing the man had never existed. Not only was he a subpar version of the real Colonel Hogan, but he also was a manipulative man who bullied everyone into letting him get his own way while simultaneously convincing them it was their own choice. All of the real Colonel Hogan's men knew what it was like to be volunteered for a mission they did not want to help conduct, but this was absurd. Edward had somehow managed to manipulate LeBeau, a man who knew all of the Colonel's tricks, into going against the real Colonel Hogan, and when all was finished, it was LeBeau who was left as a spectacle on the street corner.

He closed his eyes briefly, frowning into the deserted night of Hammelburg and wishing he knew how to get himself out of this. Sure, he could walk away at any time, but then any grain of control he still had on Edward's behavior would be completely gone. Still, as he looked around himself, he had to wonder whether it was worth it. Surely even Colonel Hogan would agree that this had gone to an extreme and was not worth it. It couldn't be worth it.

It was not long after the art society agreed to help Edward make his movie that things had taken this drastic turn for the worst.

"Louis," Edward said, giving him a dramatic grin, "you are to have a very important part in this production."

At first LeBeau found himself worrying about being cast as a main actor and some Boche seeing him and putting the Stalag XIII operation in jeopardy, but that was not what Edward was trying to say.

"In fact, some people may call it the most important part of any production." LeBeau braced himself for some mention of catering for the film crew, but that was not what Edward meant either.

"I am relying on you for our money."

"Money?" LeBeau asked. "Are you asking me for a loan? I don't have enough to give you one."

"No, not a loan, never that. Lenders have a horrible tendency to ask for interest, and while that is good for making a plotline more intense, I don't want to deal with it in real life."

"Then what do you want?" LeBeau asked suspiciously.

"Louis, you will now go from being a mere purveyor of art, someone who just looks at art for his own enjoyment, to a salesman of art. Imagine, great crowds flocking around you to see your wares simply because _you_ are selling them. Imagine them trusting your judgement and seeing how much they can pay you for the privilege of owning art you once sold. It will be a grand dream."

"You do not have to sell me on the idea. It is horrible."

"And yet, no matter what you think, you will do it," Edward hissed back at him after his sullen comment. "After all, you would not want to make all these ladies angry after all you've done to charm them."

"Why should I care about these _Boche_ women? They are not on _my_ side of the war." LeBeau deliberately left Edward out of the comment. As far as he was concerned, Edward had yet to prove that he was of any value to the Allies. In fact, right now he seemed like more of a threat with his mad ideas about how to end a war.

"I'll tell you why you care. You are currently surrounded by these women, and believe me when I tell you that there is nothing more ferocious than a woman who just realized she was tricked by a man she used to consider charming. Remember Medea?"

Judging by the look Edward gave him, LeBeau was willing to bet that Edward was even more ferocious, but then Edward turned around and addressed the women, and LeBeau was forced to concede he might have a point.

"Ladies, after looking at your tastefully decorated meeting space, Louis here has confided in me. He is so impressed by your art that he simply cannot wait to help you sell it."

LeBeau, having seen the "art" the ladies had "created" and were trying to sell, was very much not impressed. Or at least he was not impressed in a good way. The best of it looked only slightly better than something he would expect of Colonel Klink, but when he looked up to deny Edward's statements, the protest stopped before it began. One look at the women showed him that Edward was correct. If he tried to get out of this, even without insulting the "paintings," he would not make it out of here alive.

But by keeping his silence, the women all seemed to be even more charmed by him, and he realized even as he accepted their adoration that he was digging the pit deeper.

"Now, now, Ladies, we need—" Edward began.

"We must have a picture with him!" declared one of the women, and Edward preened.

"Of course, Ma'am," he said.

"Good, I will fetch the camera for you!" she said happily before dashing out of the room. The other ladies surrounded LeBeau, positioning themselves all around him. The first lady rushed back into the room and thrust a camera at Edward. "Here, take a picture of us."

Edward seemed disconcerted at not being the center of admiration, but he, in his numbly stunned state, complied, snapping a picture of all the smiling faces in front of him.

"Ah, _danke, Herr Edward_," said one of the women as she took the camera back from him. LeBeau found himself hoping that photo was never developed and decided to try to get the film himself. It would not do to have a picture of him outside the prison camp.

"Herr Louis?" asked a young lady. LeBeau looked up at her, annoyed that she was beginning a conversation that kept him from moving closer to the film. She was ignoring Edward's proclamations about how the casting process would work for his movie, so LeBeau decided she must have slightly more sense than the others, but in this situation, that only made her more dangerous. She gestured to a doorway. "This is where we keep most of our art, if you want to look for specific pieces to sell."

LeBeau tried not to look too disappointed as she led him further from the camera, but when he stepped inside the other room, he was glad that she had her back turned to him. There was no other way that he could have kept the dismay on his face hidden. He did not see a single good piece of art here. Oh, he could tell that some pieces had hours put into them, but not by someone who had a true artist's eye or experience. The figures in the paintings were out of proportion, and LeBeau soon realized that the only way he would be able to sell any of them would be to pretend that they were modern art. It was one thing to butter up Klink and use him to get what they needed, but having to pretend that these paintings were true art for the sake of Edward's ego and his film was hard. He hoped that the aliens took Edward away when they returned Klink since Edward definitely deserved to be kidnapped by them far more after getting LeBeau involved in _this_.

But then the girl turned around and LeBeau forced a smile onto his face. "I will take these two, and this one, and those three," he said. "There will not be enough time to try selling any more."

"Oh, _danke Herr Louis_," the girl replied. "I am no good at acting, so there is no point in me auditioning for your friend's movie, but I did create many of these myself, including that one that you chose," she said, motioning around the room and to one of the paintings LeBeau picked at random.

"Do not thank me. Just remember what you contributed to." The girl looked thoroughly enchanted by LeBeau's words, completely missing the bitterness in his voice as he referred to Edward's project. He gave up and traipsed back into the other room, the girl carrying his chosen paintings behind him.

"Louis, I see you have found artwork here that shall soon be famous!" cried Edward from across the room. Several women prancing in front of him for their "auditions" turned to look, and once more LeBeau's hopes of correcting their folly were crushed.

"_Oui_. I am leaving now," he explained, hoping he could dump the paintings soon enough to not let Edward move off to wherever he planned to film.

"You can't leave now. Not like _that_," Edward motioned to him, and LeBeau looked down at his perfectly good disguise in bewilderment. "No self-respecting art-seller would go about looking lkke a Luftwaffe solfier. We need to dress you up, and then you can leave."

* * *

As LeBeau stood on a street corner surrounded by sub-par paintings, he scowled to himself. Partially because of the paintings, partially because of Edward, and partially because of his new clothes. His Luftwaffe disguise, painstakingly tailored by Newkirk, were back at the art society building, and Edward had made sure that everyone there knew that Louis was not to get them back until he successfully sold all the paintings. He claimed it was so they could keep up LeBeau's "look," but LeBeau had seen the gleam in his eyes when he said it. This mixed-up duplicate of the Colonel _knew_ that he could manipulate LeBeau into doing his bidding instead of the real Colonel's.

And so LeBeau stood on the street corner, trying to sell art he was embarrassed to have ever seen.


	16. P is for Pacify

P is for Pacify

"To cause (someone who is angry or upset) to become calm or quiet; to cause a force (a country, a violent group of people, etc.) to become peaceful"

* * *

Robert stole the camp truck when he kidnapped Newkirk, but Edward left with LeBeau before Marya arrived at the star ship. Thankfully Marya had the sense to drive, and Hogan had a determination not to question whether she was qualified, so there was no need to walk back to camp. Langenscheidt however, concussed though he was, did not find the situation favorable.

"What will I tell Gruber?" he moaned. "A missing broken gonculator is not hard to explain since we can say we got rid of it, but how do I explain an entire truck to him?"

"Just tell him Klink took it with him when he vanished. That makes more sense than the truth," Hogan decided, muttering the last bit under his breath while Marya made her car careen around a corner, looking over her shoulder so she could enjoy her passengers' expressions.

"_Danke_," Langenscheidt muttered confusedly before settling back into silence.

"You can thank me by not reporting Newkirk and LeBeau missing."

"But we cannot let your men escape."

"I know that, and you know that, but you know what else we both know?"

"What?"

"They didn't escape. They were kidnapped. Do you want to try explaining to Gruber how you let some of the prisoners you were supposed to be guarding get kidnapped?"

"No, Colonel Hogan," Langenscheidt agreed. "But what if he asks why they are not in the roll call formation?"

"Everyone knows that Gruber does not know the prisoner's as well as Klink. If he asks why people are missing, just tell him they aren't. He won't know the difference."

"_Ja_, he will believe that." Langenscheidt did not seem to be very with the conversation, and Hogan only hoped that he remembered what to say when the time came.

"We are almost here," Marya called over her shoulder. "You should hide while I drive the car into the camp." Hogan quickly ducked down beneath the windows, then pulled Langenscheidt down too for good measure. It would not do to have anyone see Langenscheidt being driven into camp by Marya. There would just be too many questions. Marya noticed what was happening and casually threw her coat into the back on top of them, blanketing them in a cloud of heavy perfume that Hogan did not recognize. It would be just perfect if it was an alien perfume from the planet of Moscow.

"Good morning," Marya greeted the guards at the gates.

"Ma'am," one of them said nervously, "we cannot let you in."

"Why not? I am just here for a small visit, and I am such good friends with everyone that they will not mind me dropping in unexpectedly."

"It's just after three A.M., Ma'am. You should get a room in Hammelburg and come back in the morning. I'm sure it would be much more comfortable there."

"But I am already here," Marya said, as if that settled everything, and to add finality to the statement, she started the car moving forward. The guard yelped a bit, and Hogan imagined that he must have been standing very close to the car.

"Open the gate!" the guard shouted to someone, presumably a fellow guard. "She's going to crash through it!"

Hogan could hear Marya chuckling a bit, and then the car surged forward, and raced into the camp before coming suddenly to a stop. "This is your barracks, Hogan. You should get inside." Marya did not seem at all concerned with anyone seeing her drop him off at his front door, so Hogan scrambled out of the car as fast as he could, deciding that she must have driven off from the gate so quickly that the guards could not see him. The moment he shut the door, though, Marya began to race off again, and Hogan made a quick dash to the barracks door before anyone could see him.

As soon as he was inside the barracks, he saw nine worried-looking men sitting around the table. The glow from the stove reflected off their faces, and he could tell that they were concerned by the odd way he had gotten back inside. He made a beeline for the tunnel, where he left his regular clothes, but paused just long enough to call out, "Marya is here. Be ready for a surprise roll call."

He did not take time to get a response, and simply dropped into the tunnel instead. Baker came out of the radio room, and Hogan walked over to him. "Get upstairs. Marya is here, and she may make Gruber have a surprise roll call for fun."

"That may be a problem, Sir," Baker replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Kinch got a message from the underground, so he and Carter went to make contact. I'm not sure of all the details, but when they got back, Colonel Crittendon was with them. Apparently the underground made contact about an ammo dump, and Colonel Crittendon wanted them to take care of it tonight. They left half an hour ago."

Hogan set his jaw, resisting the urge to groan as he thought about all the trouble the British man had caused them in the past twenty-four hours. It would not be a good idea to send anyone else out to try to get the others to come back, but that meant there would be four people, four people with records as troublemakers, missing if Gruber and Marya had a surprise roll call. Even if they did not, there was every chance that no one—not Newkirk and LeBeau with their duplicate Hogans, or Carter and Kinch with their British Colonel—would make it back on time. He could only hope that Langenscheidt would not tell on them. Besides, being taken by Crittendon had to be almost as bad as being taken by crazy duplicates, so if Langenscheidt asked, he would just say they were kidnapped too.

* * *

It was to everyone's great relief that there was no surprise roll call. It was Foster who reminded everyone that they gave Gruber a sedative the night before, so he might not have woken up enough to think of it, and Hogan was glad they had taken the precaution, unnecessary as it had seemed at first. Still, Hogan was sure that the guards had woken Gruber up to tell him about Marya as soon as she arrived, and he had to marvel at how strong the sedative must have been for Gruber to not call a surprise check as an excuse to get away from her. After all, it would not be like Marya at all to go straight to the guest quarters when there was a chance of causing chaos.

Still, by the time they had been called out for roll call, none of the missing men were back yet. The men there tried to arrange themselves to fill in the gaps left by the others, but it was a miserable disguise, and even Gruber saw through it.

"All present and accounted for," the concussed and very tired Langenscheidt told him, and Gruber gave him a look of surprise.

"That is not fifteen men," he said, waving a hand at the men in front of Barracks Two.

"But sir," Langenscheidt began, and Hogan saw at once that he was not going to be able to cover well.

"What he means to say," Hogan broke in, "is that there was another round of disappearances this morning."

"You mean escapes?" Gruber asked, alarmed.

"No, not escapes. I mean that when Langenscheidt here was rounding us up, four of my men vanished. Right, Corporal?"

Langenscheidt looked a little confused, but he nodded his head a couple of times, wincing and looking uncomfortable. "_Ja_, the men were kidnapped. The Kommandant went missing and then the truck and the gonculators went missing and now the prisoners are missing."

"This is bad," Gruber muttered to himself. "You are all dismissed to your barracks," he finally decided. "No one is to be seen wandering around the compound until we know more about what is happening to everyone."

Most of the men started following his orders right away, but Hogan stayed where he was a few moments longer to see if he would need to explain anything more. He could see Marya watching him from the porch, and he knew that he would need to stay on top of anything she was up to in camp. She of all people knew he was lying, and he needed to make sure she did not try anything to make the situation more entertaining to her.

As it turned out, Marya did not have to do anything. Just as Hogan was turning away, a staff car pulled up to the gate, and inside was General Burkhalter.

"Herr General," Gruber exclaimed as he nervously greeted the officer. "It is a surprise to see you here."

"That is because this is a surprise inspection. Now where is Klink? He needs to explain what _she_ is doing here," he said, motioning towards Marya.

Marya was of course the first one to respond. "Herr General," she said, draping herself on one of his shoulders, "he went to visit Stalag V. Didn't he tell you?"

"He did not. Is there a reason for him to be at Stalag V instead of his own stalag?" Burkhalter asked, and Hogan got the distinct impression he was remembering a failed assassination attempt from a while back. General Burkhalter did not like the kommandants meeting with each other.

"The kommandant there wanted him to explain how he made Stalag XIII escape-proof," Marya replied as if it were the most simple thing in the world."

"Is that so?" Burkhalter asked. "Then I'm sure he won't mind me going through his records to try to find the same thing myself."

Hogan felt a bit panicked. With all the chaos in the camp, there was no telling what Burkhalter would find in an inspection. So he turned to Langenscheidt, missing the reliability of Schultz. "This is boring," he complained. "Why don't you start telling me about that new lady's club again?"

Langenscheidt just looked confused, and Hogan could only hope he would catch on. There was nothing like mentioning women to distract Burkhalter. "I was telling you about a new lady's club?" Langenscheidt asked.

"Yes, and boy did you make it sound special."

"But I do not know about many lady's clubs," he protested. "There is just one that I know about. It is an art club that all the most artistic women from Hammelburg join."

"And by artistic you mean beautiful, right?"

"What is this all about?" Burkhalter asked. "A women's club? And Klink lets you go meet women there?"

"Oh yes," Hogan replied for Langenscheidt. "And if we don't cause any trouble, sometimes the guards tell us about it."

"I see," said Burkhalter. "If Klink is letting his guards visit this club, it seems it is something I should check into. What was its name again?"

"The Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society," Marya replied, and Burkhalter decided that was a good moment to get back into his car.

Hogan breathed a sigh of relief. They managed to get rid of Burkhalter far easier than they usually did. Now he would just be going to look at an art club, and there was no way that could possibly lead back to what was happening at the camp.

* * *

"Hang on, Newkirk, we're almost there!" Robert the Romantic exclaimed in pure joy as he took a sharp curve at far too high a speed. The entire trip had been one nightmare driving scenario after another, and every time Newkirk tried to get Robert to slow down, the duplicate would just exclaim something like, "And be separated from my true love for a moment longer than I need? Fie!"

Throughout the drive, it became clear to Newkirk that Robert had absolutely no idea where any of the German roads led, and he refused to tell Newkirk where he was trying to go, other than "To Tiger, of course," which was not a useful response. But that was not the worst of the drive. It was not that Robert was a bad driver—it would actually take either an exceptionally skilled or exceptionally lucky driver to get them through the journey in one piece—it was merely that Newkirk himself did not like Robert's driving. There was of course a certain amount of risk he was willing to take—his whole lifestyle for as long as he could remember revolved around that fact, but everyone knew he did not like too much risk, especially when it could be avoided. And Robert taking every curve on two wheels, sending the truck flying after every bump, and even smashing through a checkpoint was too much. Newkirk did not know whether to be more impressed or terrified that Robert had lost the checkpoint guards only minutes after they started chasing them.

But for now, all Newkirk could do was hold on and hope that Robert did not get them both killed before they got wherever it was that they were going.


	17. Q is for Quiddity

Q is for Quiddity

"Whatever makes something the type that it is"

* * *

It may only have been early morning, but Tiger was already awake and trying to make her way through the auction house to put the dossier in the dollhouse that her contact bought the day before. Although the people who bought things from the different auctions this week had been told to come pick them up as soon as possible, the warehouse was filled with all sorts of things from the different auctions. There was the furniture from day one, as well as musical instruments, china, toys, and the costumes for today's auction. Tiger was only glad that they had the sense not to stable the cattle from a few days ago here as well.

Still, the costume auction was making things around the warehouse interesting. For one, she had not thought that costumes would be a particular German industry, but the place was filled with racks and racks of them. There was everything from ghosts and werewolves to pirate hats and trick swords. For another thing, it seemed that everyone who was working the auction seemed to be wearing a costume as well, and Tiger soon realized that she would need to put on a costume as well if she wanted any hope of not being caught. Clearly regular clothes would mark someone who was not supposed to be there. The warehouse was not _very_ busy, but it would be best to prevent a problem.

Tiger looked around quickly and grabbed the first costume that looked like it would fit her. It wasn't as ridiculous as some of the costumes in this place, though it did have a bright-purple shirt paired with a furry vest.

As she made her way around the warehouse, she realized that there had to be a system of organization for everything, but she could not figure out what it was, and unfortunately it was a big warehouse. She was strolling through one of the aisles when she heard footsteps approaching her, so she turned around and was surprised to see Schultz approaching. He was also wearing a costume, but he was easy to recognize.

Tiger was about to turn away and continue browsing on her own when an idea struck her. She might recognize Schultz, but he probably did not recognize her, and she knew that the men at Stalag XIII often found him as a good source for information. Maybe she could do the same.

She waved at Schultz, and he approached, seeming nearly as happy as he had yesterday. "Is there something I can do for you, _Frauline_?" he asked.

"_Ja_. I am working with the costume auction, but I came yesterday for the toy auction as well. I did not win anything, but I would love to see some of the toys up close so I can think about what to give my little niece for her birthday."

"Ah, a little girl. How old is she?" Schultz asked, completely taken in by her story and clearly eager to tell her about the toys.

"She is eight," Tiger replied, lying to try to steer Schultz to the idea of a dollhouse.

"Come," Schultz motioned for her to follow him, and he started showing her all the toys he thought an eight-year-old girl would be interested in. Tiger was a little annoyed that he did not take her straight to the dollhouse, but she did not ask for it specifically. She did not want to draw any attention to it, just in case the mission was compromised. But at last he made his way over to it, and Tiger was sure it was the right one, not only because it was the only dollhouse present but also because it had a tag on it saying it was bought by buyer number 26, her contact.

But just as the two were coming even with the dollhouse and Tiger was debating with herself whether to try to distract Schultz and put the dossier inside it now or to come back later, she heard a door slam open on the other side of the warehouse. Both she and Schultz turned to see what it was, and both stood stock-still in complete shock.

Coming through the door and making their way straight towards them were Colonel Hogan and Corporal Newkirk, with Hogan dragging Newkirk after him by the arm. Hogan was dressed as a civilian, and Newkirk as a Luftwaffe guard, and Tiger knew there was no chance that Schultz would not recognize them.

"Tiger!" Hogan yelled happily, his voice resounding through the warehouse in a way that made Tiger glad Schultz and she seemed to be the only people in it.

"C-C-Colonel Hogan! Corporal Newkirk! What are you doing here?" Schultz stammered as the two of them came to a stop only a few feet away.

"Tiger, my love, I had to come find you. The stars declared that we were meant to be together, and so we shall not be separate!"

Tiger stared at him in shock for a moment as she processed what he was saying, but just as he moved to come closer to her, she pulled a small gun out of her handbag and aimed it at him. Colonel Hogan would never behave this way, showing absolutely no regard for secrecy or the importance of their work, and that meant that this was not Colonel Hogan. She did not know Corporal Newkirk as well, but he seemed to be just as horrified by Hogan's behavior as she was, so she hoped she could get an explanation from him. Schultz, meanwhile, was watching the whole scene with slack-jawed surprise.

"Who are you?" Tiger asked Hogan. "You may look like someone I know, but he would never act like this."

"Of course he would never act like I do," replied the man who looked like Hogan. "He is too easily distracted by things that do not truly matter, like the war, to put you first. But I am not like him, and I swear I will always give you the attention you deserve."

In the background, Tiger could hear Schultz muttering, "I see nothing, I hear nothing, I know nothing," but she ignored that for the moment.

"What has happened to him?" Tiger asked Newkirk, hoping he would give a more sensible answer than the man who had fallen to his knees while holding out a few flowers that looked suspiciously like the ones she had seen outside the building.

"Well, Ma'am, I'm not sure what to tell you. It isn't the Gov', if that's what you mean, but I'm not sure how to tell you more than that without sounding like I've lost my sanity," Newkirk told her.

"I think you should try," she replied, glad that she was right about this not being Colonel Hogan but wondering more than ever what was actually happening.

"This is Robert the Romantic, as he likes to call himself. Now I don't know how much Schultz here has heard about what's happened at Stalag XIII since he went on leave, but a lot of funny things have happened."

"What are you talking about, Newkirk?" Schultz asked. "You are the people who cause the monkey business at the camp. How could something funny happen that you did not cause?"

"You remember Colonel Crittendon, right?"

"_Ja_," Schultz agreed, and he seemed to accept that as a reasonable answer to his question. Tiger had heard of Crittendon before, due to all her work with the underground, and from her understanding, he was not the best man to have around if you wanted things to go to plan.

"Let's just say that Colonel Crittendon did something that led to the real Colonel Hogan getting duplicated. This is one of the duplicates."

"How can that happen?" Tiger asked, knowing that it did not really make sense but that it did explain this Hogan's behavior.

"Ma'am, if I knew that, then none of this would have gotten this far," Newkirk replied, and Tiger was left with the dilemma of what to do next.


	18. R is for Reify

R is for Reify

"To consider or represent (something abstract) as a material or concrete thing"

* * *

It took Edward the Dramatic far longer than he anticipated to get everyone on set and ready to begin filming. He had no idea why anyone would want to delay the production of grand art, but these women, as eager as they were to become movie stars and help end the war, took far longer than they should have in preparing their costumes and getting ready to leave. He was tempted to complain to them about taking too long, but he did not want to make them grumpy or have them decide to take longer just to punish him for complaining, so he held his tongue. Still, when they decided to take time to make coffee when they were only _minutes_ away from leaving, he very nearly broke his resolution. How could they possibly call themselves true lovers of art when they actually wanted to sleep instead of go create art? It did not make sense, but he was not about to tell them that and risk having to find himself another free film cast. That would take too long. Still, at least the delay was giving LeBeau enough time to sell the paintings. With the money he made, Edward could undoubtedly find a theater willing to show his film for the first time. After that, all the other theaters would undoubtedly flock to him for the chance to show his first movie.

"Alright," one of the women who seemed to be in charge here finally said, "we are ready to go. It would be better if you would let us go home and rest so we can begin filming tomorrow, though. We have not had a good chance to sleep, and we did not know until last night that we should be preparing for this."

"Madam," Edward replied, giving the woman his most flattering smile, "you look perfect. This film is about how hard work is inspirational and how we should all focus on that instead of on war. You make think you look tired, but that will only make the film more real to everyone who watches it. This is truly the best thing we can do."

None of the women seemed that happy with his explanation, but they accepted it, and so Edward stepped outside the Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society only a minute later with several tired women following him in costume. While they were preparing their costumes, one had told him that her brother had a movie camera, and so he sent her to go get him. The two siblings joined the procession just as they were turning off the street, and Edward proudly led them along to a nearby field he had seen earlier.

There was a large barn at one end of the field, and Edward had grand ideas for how he could use it as a set. Everyone knew that any film about hard work and pioneers and farming needed a barn in the background. He decided that in one scene they could burn it down to show how people persisted even when all their harvest was destroyed in one fell swoop. It would be a moving scene—a true turning point in the film.

* * *

"There now, that went splendidly, if I do say so myself," Crittendon said happily as he looked at Carter and Kinch, both of whom were tired and worried about how this whole scheme would play out.

Even though they had left Stalag XIII at 0300, just as Crittendon had planned, it seemed that the man did not know where he was going quite as well as he thought he did. He led them first back to the Hammelburg Dinner Theater, and then to the HMSS Tubby III where it sat in its field, and then back towards Hammelburg. He said that he knew _where_ the field was, but that he did not know how to get to it directly. So he had simply retraced his steps to where he had last seen the field, as he put it.

To make matters worse, Carter had looked at the ammo dump layout again and decided that they should use multiple smaller charges instead of one main explosive. "You see," he explained, "I'm not sure the underground member who drew this really knew what he was doing. No one who knows a thing about explosives would think it was a good idea to arrange them like this." And so they had prepared for what Carter said was a much more probable layout. It meant that they had to carry more explosives, and Crittendon's detours meant that they had to carry them far further than they expected. And then, when they finally got to the field, which had a large barn at one end, just like the one in the underground's diagram that assured Carter and Kinch that they had the right field, it took far longer to set up the multiple charges in the way Carter specified.

But now they were done with all the setup, and they were finally ready to set off the explosion. The only problem was that it was far, far later than roll call, and Carter and Kinch knew that they would have been missed by now. Even with Hochstetter out of the picture, they could not afford to blow up an ammo dump when the two of them did not have rock solid alibis.

"Is there any way we can set these on a timer so we can make sure we're captured _before_ the ammo dump explodes?" Kinch asked Carter, who immediately began shaking his head no.

"I thought this was just going to be a quick setup and that we would have plenty of time to get back to camp. I don't have a timer with me."

"Could we rig it to explode when something else happens, like we did once with the train track and the telephone?"

"This is a field. There's nothing we could rig it to, unless there's something in the barn. But even then the wire is not long enough, so we would have to reset all the explosives to even try to make the ends reach the barn."

"Alright, maybe we could leave the setup here and send the underground a message that we need them to complete the mission."

"That might be the best," Carter agreed.

"I say, I have a better plan," Crittendon said, not really noticing that he had been left out of the conversation. "You two can go get yourselves recaptured, and I can stay here and set off the explosions myself."

Kinch exchanged a glance with Carter. Neither of them liked trusting Crittendon with a solo mission, but he did offer a good plan. Besides, all he would have to do would be to wait for an hour or two before setting off the explosives. It would not be that hard.

"Okay," Kinch agreed at last. "You need to give us at least two hours to be recaptured. That way we have a little extra time if something unexpected happens. Then set off the explosives and get back to Stalag XIII. If anything unexpected happens on your end, leave the explosives and get back to us. We can always send a message to the underground."

"Jolly good," Crittendon agreed, happy that he could do something to help.

But as Carter and Kinch were getting ready to leave, they saw a small group of people march onto the field and start wandering around all over it.

"Is that the Colonel?" Carter asked in disbelief as he watched the leader of the group ordering a bunch of women dressed as pioneers and a camera man around.

"It sure looks like him," Kinch muttered.

"I say," Crittendon added, "he should know better than to go wandering around in a field that is set to explode in a few hours."

"Something isn't right," Kinch said after they had watched the group for a few more minutes. That can't be the Colonel. He would never authorize a mission like this unless we all knew about it in advance. Someone needs to go find out what is happening before we do anything else."

Edward never knew how close he came to being blown up that day. After all, he was an artist, not a spy, and he had no idea what a field converted into an ammo dump and then rigged with more explosives looked like. In his mind, art was all that mattered, and if he had known about the explosives, he would probably have only thought of it as a grand idea for making his film better.


	19. S is for Shenanigan

S is for Shenanigan

"A devious trick used especially for an underhanded purpose; high-spirited or mischievous activity"

* * *

Robert the Romantic was finally outnumbered, and he knew it. It had taken a while, but he eventually realized, to his complete heartbreak, that Tiger did not want him there. For some reason, she actually seemed to prefer the original Colonel Hogan, even though he never seemed to spend any real time with her. But here Robert was, ready to stay by her side and do all her bidding, and she chose to reject him. It was almost more than he could take, and he began to lose all heart. Clearly there was nothing he could do but give up and hope that she came to realize the strength of his love later.

Unfortunately for Robert, the fact was that Newkirk, Tiger, and Schultz had no idea that he was so close to giving up hope. They still thought that the only way to keep him under control was to overpower him by strength of number. They did not know that at this point they could have just ignored him and he would have given them no trouble, as long as Tiger did not show him any affection at least. So instead they all looked at each other uncertainly, unsure what they should do with Robert and what they should do with themselves. So it was perhaps for the best that Tiger did have a fellow underground member in the warehouse, even though she had previously thought it was unnecessary and might draw too much attention to them.

This underground member, who went by the codename of The Fisherman, made sure he did not disguise himself as a fisherman when arrived at the warehouse that day. Everything seemed to be going alright for him, aside from almost getting roped into helping out with the cattle still living in the barn in the next building over, but for a few hours he was mostly content to keep watch over the place until Tiger could plant the dossier and the contact could pick up the dossier.

It was actually a rather boring job for him, so he did not feel guilty about wandering through other rooms of the warehouse as well. Besides, doing so helped maintain his cover as an auction worker. But as he was making his way through the warehouse, browsing through a stack of lampshades that did not sell, he suddenly heard a loud voice yelling, "Tiger!"

The Fisherman instantly went on the alert, chiding himself for wandering off while on duty. He did not think he recognized the voice, and when he heard it again a moment later, he was sure he did not know it. Still, it had not sounded threatening, and he had not heard Tiger yell for help, so he decided she must have the situation under control well enough to where he was not truly needed. Still, he decided to head back to the other warehouse just to make sure. If Tiger had been discovered, the Underground needed to know, and if anyone asked why he showed up, he could always say he was an auction worker who heard someone yell and went to investigate.

That in mind, he headed back to the other room, peering into it cautiously when he finally reached it. He could see Tiger, along with three men he did not recognize, but one was dressed as a Luftwaffe soldier. He could not hear much that the people were saying, but Tiger had her gun drawn on one of the men, so he decided that the situation must be serious, especially when he managed to make out the names of Colonels Hogan and Crittendon. He had never met or worked with either, but his wife ran messages to Colonel Hogan's group sometimes. Still, Tiger seemed to have it under control, so he decided his best option was to wait on the sidelines until things became more clear.

* * *

Newkirk was doing his best to explain the situation, but he knew he was not doing a very good job. For one thing, he did not know if anyone could do a good job. The truth was simply too unbelievable for any rational person to accept, and Tiger was very much a rational person. Schultz would probably accept the truth as them not telling him the truth for his own good, but he had a feeling that even Schultz would not be happy accepting a cover story in this situation. He mainly accepted them because they let him pretend that the prisoners were normal prisoners. This was a little too much even for Schultz, what with multiple prisoners showing up in Dusseldorf (which was where Newkirk thought they must be based on what Schultz told them about the auction—Robert's driving was too mixed up for him to guess where they were without other clues). Thankfully Schultz seemed too used to the prisoners and their shenanigans to ask him why he was wearing a Luftwaffe uniform.

"Newkirk," Schultz said, "what do you mean that Colonel Crittendon duplicated Colonel Hogan? You cannot duplicate people."

"Schultz, I have no idea how it worked, but now there are three Colonel Hogans, and only one of them is the one we want to have around. Besides, it wasn't really Colonel Crittendon what did it; it was Langenscheidt, so you should ask him instead o' me."

"Langenscheidt? But you said Colonel Crittendon caused it. And Corporal Langenscheidt knows better than to do something like that, even if he knew _how_ to do it."

"Look, all I know is that Crittendon started it and Langenscheidt finished it. And for all I know there's more that happened after this one here kidnapped me."

"Kidnapped?" Schultz sounded a bit faint when he heard what the prisoners had been up to. "Colonel Hogan, it is not nice to kidnap people."

"I'm not Colonel Hogan," the duplicate responded, sounding heartbroken. "I am not Colonel Hogan, I am Robert the Romantic, my own free person and a purveyor of all things romantic, but she does not love me! How has it come to this? I would give everything for her, but she will not have me!"

And with that, Robert broke out into an exceptionally loud wail of complete misery. Schultz looked horrified by the scene, and Tiger looked serious. Newkirk simply rolled his eyes at the man's antics, heartfelt as they truly were, but The Fisherman jumped in surprise. He had no idea what was happening, but the situation was making less and less sense to him the more he observed. And so he made his way over to Tiger as swiftly as he could without running, the long black cape of his costume billowing out behind him. He reached Tiger's side and came to a stop, looking at the man crying in front of them. The man shook one fist at the ceiling above them as he let loose another wail, but as he lowered the fist, he opened his eyes, and they landed directly on The Fisherman.

The crying man took one moment to process the sight in front of him, but when he did, the cries turned into a shriek, and he managed to yell, "VAMPIRE!" at the top of his lungs before dropping over in a dead faint.

The Fisherman looked down at his vampire costume in surprise. It was not exceptionally elaborate, and he doubted that anyone would recognize it as a vampire costume without the blueish face paint he found with it, but apparently it had startled the man enough to render him unconscious. Tiger turned to him in surprise, recognizing him in an instant. She looked over at the other people, and seeing that the Luftwaffe soldier and the large man were checking to make sure the sobbing man had a pulse, she ducked behind him quickly. The Fisherman, or the Vampire as he apparently was, was surprised at first before realizing that she was planting the dossier in the dollhouse while everyone else was distracted. That was good. Even with this absurd turn of events, the mission would still be completed.

A moment later someone else came running into the room, and the Vampire Fisherman recognized him as the warehouse manager. "What has happened?" he asked in a panic, and Tiger answered before he could even think of an explanation.

"This man," she said motioning to the one who had been crying, "wanted to buy something that was already sold to someone else. When we told him he could not have it, he overacted until he saw Herr Muller," here she motioned to the Vampire Fisherman, whose name definitely was not Muller. "He was in such a state that he fainted at the sight of a vampire."

The Vampire Fisherman was sure that was not the truth, but the two other men seemed to pick up on it as though it were. "It is true," the large one said. "I told him that he could not have the toy chest shaped like the ship, and he did not like to hear that."

"And what of this man?" the manager asked, motioning to the Luftwaffe soldier.

"He was coming to tell me that I am needed back at my post," the large one said.

"_Ja_," replied the Luftwaffe man. "Sergeant Schultz is the best man we have at making the prisoners behave."

"Very well," the warehouse man finally conceded. "I am sorry to see you leave early, Herr Schultz. Should I call a hospital about this man? Or perhaps the police?"

"Oh, _nein_, we can take him to the hospital on the way back to the camp," the Luftwaffe man explained. The warehouse manager gave them a firm nod before turning and leaving again, undoubtedly trying to prepare for the costume auction.

The man named Schultz sighed a bit, and the Vampire Fisherman thought he looked upset at what had just happened. "Come Newkirk. We should get both of you back to the camp."

"Oh, you don't have to come, Schultzie," Newkirk the Luftwaffe soldier replied. "Now that he's unconscious, we can just tie him up and I'll take him back myself, and you can finish your leave."

"Newkirk, you are not supposed to be out of camp. Oh, what will the Kommandant say when he hears about this?"

"It's easy. He won't."

"How could he not? It is past roll call and you are missing."

"See, the Kommandant is missing too. It was something about him being kidnapped by aliens, though, not kidnapped by a lovesick duplicate."

"I hear nothing, I hear nothing, I hear _nothing_," the Vampire Fisherman heard Schultz mutter as the two men carried the unconscious man away and out the door, leaving him alone with Tiger.

"What was that?" he asked her at last.

"I do not know. But we need to contact our people in Hammelburg so they can make sure Papa Bear's organization is okay. I should go right now. Do you see where I put my coat?" The Vampire Fisherman looked around for a few seconds before spotting it and helping her put it on so that they were both dressed in black. "Before I leave, I was supposed to pass this to you if I had the chance," she said and pulled something out of a pocket.

The Vampire Fisherman took it in confusion, wondering why she would give him what appeared to be a miniature shovel. "I suppose this is for me to pass on to someone else?"

"It should go the Man of the Sea. He will know what to do with it."

The Vampire Fisherman was still confused, but he accepted that it would have some significance to his main contact, even if he himself never knew what that was. But for now, it was his job to watch over the dollhouse until the contact picked it up, and he vowed to do a much better job than he had earlier that day.

* * *

Author's Note: The Fisherman, his wife, and the Man of the Sea are a reference to my favorite childhood fairy tale. It is not well-known at all, but when I was little, I used to have my dad read it to me again and again. It is called The Fisherman and His Wife, in case anyone is curious.


	20. T is for Traduce

T is for Traduce

"To tell lies about (someone)"

* * *

LeBeau was not happy at all. He had been up all night and been standing on the street corner trying to sell subpar art for hours because Edward the Dramatic had decided it was a good idea and somehow managed to get him to go along with it. But by now, LeBeau was fed up and ready to stop making a fool of himself for Edward's sake. The Colonel told him to make sure Edward did not cause them any trouble, and so he had gone along with the man to try to keep him happy and from going too far off the deep end, as the Americans said. But clearly that had not worked, and there was no way that LeBeau could keep Edward from causing trouble if he was not even around Edward. It was getting close to roll call time, though, so LeBeau decided that he would just toss the art in the nearest garbage can and make his way back to the stalag in time to not be counted as missing. Hopefully Newkirk had gotten control of Robert the Romantic and was already back there as well. After roll call, he could sneak out again and find Edward, tell the women that the art had sold for a ridiculous price to keep them happy, and then threated Edward into coming back to the satalg with him. Edward may be much taller and stronger than he was, but he could always bring backup with him.

Just as LeBeau was gathering the art for its journey to the nearest place he could get rid of it, be it garbage can or alleyway or truck bed, he heard a car pull up beside him and stop. A door opened, and firm footsteps walked up to him. Something about the situation told LeBeau that the person approaching was not friendly, and he looked up to see a ridiculously tall man in a suit glaring down at him.

"May I help you?" LeBeau asked.

"You," the man began, peering closely at the shabby artist clothes that Edward had insisted he wear, "are under arrest."

"Under arrest?" LeBeau asked incredulously. "What for?"

"Vagrancy," the man replied, spinning LeBeau around and snapping handcuffs around his wrists before LeBeau had a chance to protest. "We cannot have shabby vagrants, even if they are French, cluttering our sidewalks. You and your…possessions will come with us so we can decide what to do with you." LeBeau could tell from the man's attitude that he did not think any more highly of the artwork than LeBeau did, but this man actually had the power to do something to prevent it being sold on the street corner. As the tall man shoved LeBeau into the car, another man gathered the artwork and put it in the car beside him, and LeBeau could not help but give it a vicious kick as the door was closed. If only he had done something to keep this from happening. Now he was being arrested, and it would be a miracle if he were not turned over to the Gestapo as a spy or even to Stalag XIII as a prisoner. If either of those happened, he was bound to be recognized by someone sooner or later, and that was something he had to prevent at all costs, especially now that there was no way he could make it back to the camp in time for roll call.

As LeBeau stewed through the too short drive to the police station, a horrible idea occurred to him. It would be a way to get out of this, if it worked, but it was not something he wanted to do. After all, putting on an act for the Colonel's sake always meant that they were one step closer to defeating the Nazi's, but this would mean putting on another act for Edward's sake. And this time he would have to take that act further than before, and Edward was not worth it. Still, he reconciled himself to the idea because even though Edward was the one who caused him to have to do it, in the end, it would keep his true friends safe.

The car stopped again, and LeBeau was roughly led out of it and into the police station. The tall man accompanied him, and the other man carried the artwork, presumably as proof of his crimes. LeBeau tried his best to put on a longsuffering expression, hoping that he could make people believe this was all a misunderstanding.

They arrived at a large office with a window, and a man in a suit looked up from his place behind a large wooden desk when they entered. "What is all this?" he asked, and the tall man responded.

"Sir, we caught a French vagrant standing on a street corner and trying to sell degenerate art. We brought the art with us as proof."

The man behind the desk, Keiner, as his nameplate said, took one look at the artwork before his eyebrows shot up. "I can see what you mean about the art, but what is this about him being a French vagrant."

"Look at his clothes. No one who was not a vagrant would wear something like that. And when he speaks, you can hear his accent."

"I am French," LeBeau responded before Keiner could, "but that does not mean I should be arrested. I assure you that I am working for the German cause just as much as anyone else in this room, and you may have ruined my mission."

"Your mission?" Keiner asked, clearly believing this was some kind of joke.

"My orders come directly from General Kinchmeyer. He decided I should try to sell degenerate art so we can make a list of the people willing to buy it. It is the perfect mission for me because I am French, and people are more likely to believe French people who try to sell them art."

"And the vagrancy?" Keiner asked, sounding confused now.

"It was a misunderstanding. General Kinchmeyer is brilliant, but his aide is not quite as good at this as he is. The aide thought that _these_," LeBeau motioned to his ragged clothes, "are somehow fashionable in France right now. He refused to believe me when I tried to correct him, and the General is too important to be bothered about things like this."

"I see," Keiner replied. "What about you, Weir? What do you think of his story?"

The tall man seemed to consider the question. "If you asked me yesterday, I would have a hard time believing it, but today, I think it might be possible."

"What do you mean?" Keiner questioned him.

"It is this. My sister, Heidi, works at the hospital as a receptionist on night shift. She got home this morning before I left the house for work, and she told me that last night was exciting because a Gestapo major was injured in an explosion. She said that a little bit after he was brought in, a General Kinchmeyer called the hospital to check on him. She was so excited about talking with a general that she remembered his name and told it to me over breakfast."

LeBeau was surprised. He had not known that Kinch had used his General Kinchmeyer disguise that night, and even if he had, he could never have guessed that his friend spoke with the tall man's sister. When he told the story, he was just hoping it would sound believable enough, but finally it seemed that things were starting to go well for him for the first time since the whole fiasco started.

"General Kinchmeyer," Keiner said. "I suppose if you are under orders from him and my man can confirm that he is real, then I will have to believe you. I am very sorry for this mix-up, sir. Is there anything I can do for you before you leave?"

"_Oui_," LeBeau said. "You can find me a suit that does not make me look like a vagrant."

Keiner paled a bit at the request, wartime rationing being what it was, but he motioned for the man who carried the artwork to go fill the request. There was an awkward silence that followed while Keiner and Weir looked over the paintings, but the other man returned much sooner than expected with a striped suit.

"Here it is. We had one left over from the charity donations last month."

LeBeau went into a side room to change, and when he got back to the office, the men seemed to be having a good time making fun of the paintings. LeBeau almost smiled about that, until he heard them calling the artwork "degenerate" again. The paintings might not be well made, but there was such a difference between poor quality art and the Nazi notion of degenerate art that he hated to hear any Germans use that term. Even worse, he had agreed with them when they used it earlier and he was trying to get them to believe his story.

"There," Keiner said when he saw LeBeau. "That looks much better. While you were changing, I wrote a short letter in case any of my men arrest you on this mission again."

He held out an envelope to LeBeau, but LeBeau waved it away. "My mission was compromised. I should not carry it further. Besides, the people of Hammelburg are too loyal. No one stopped to buy the art, so I do not think we need to continue the test."

"The people of Hammelburg are loyal?" Weir asked, cupping LeBeau's face in his hands as he stared down at him in surprise. "Even with all the sabotage, you still say the people of Hammelburg are loyal?"

LeBeau could tell that this was a dangerous conversation, and he had to step lightly. "It is a theory that the saboteurs spend all their money on explosives. They might not buy art of any kind because of that. It was one of the theories that the general wanted to look into." There were a few moments of silence while Weir decided what to do with LeBeau's explanation, and LeBeau smiled up at him, hoping it was disarming. At last Weir seemed to accept what he said, and gave his own smile. Across the desk, Keiner smiled too. To break the tension, LeBeau walked to the door.

"Will you be taking the art with you?" Keiner asked.

"No, it is not worth anything. Do whatever you want with it," he replied and left.

Once LeBeau was well away from the police station, he began making his way halfheartedly towards the stalag. He would get there long after roll call no matter what he did, so he took his time and thought about all the lies he had told people in the past twelve hours. So many of them involved him pretending to be working with the Germans that he did not know what to do with himself. He knew better, and his friends knew better, but there was something about being forced to trick people into thinking you are exactly the kind of person that you despise most that is hard to deal with. LeBeau was upset at Edward and Tubby III and Crittendon and even Langenscheidt for all they had done to contribute to this. Here he was, trying to make sure he fought to bring victory to the allies, and yet he had to trick scores of people in the past few hours alone into thinking the exact opposite of him. This would be something that he needed some time to think through.

Although LeBeau's thoughts were distracting, they did not fully consume his attention. So when he walked past a field and heard Edward's ridiculous voice calling out nonsensical orders, he stopped and turned towards it. Sooner or later that man had to be stopped, and LeBeau was here to do it now. He was just about to charge across the field to where the duplicate was directing his cast when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he turned and saw Kinch, Carter, and Crittendon, all looking confused and surprised, just the way he was sure he did himself.


	21. U is for Umbrage

Author's Note: I am posting two chapters back to back on Christmas Eve, instead of one on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas. If you have not yet read the one with LeBeau and the police officers, please go back to the previous chapter.

Merry Christmas, everyone (or whatever holiday you celebrate)!

U is for Umbrage

"A feeling of being offended by what someone has said or done"

* * *

Colonel Hogan—the real one—was all for going to find Carter, Kinch, and Crittendon the moment they were back in the barracks. No one had come to check on them yesterday, and even if someone did check and found him missing, they would just assume he vanished like Klink. If this were a normal prison camp, this would be the perfect opportunity to help people escape.

But when Hogan brought up the idea of going after the missing men to the others, he ran into a very thorough roadblock. "We don't know where they are, Sir." Baker told him.

"What do you mean you don't know where they are?"

"Colonel Crittendon is…well, he has a will of his own. When we asked where the ammo dump was, he just said it was in a field outside of town and that he knew where it was so we did not need to worry about it."

"And you let him go with that? You know we need to keep track of where our people are when they're outside the fence." Hogan was not actually upset at Baker or any of the other men. He was just frustrated at Crittendon, especially after Baker replied.

"He pulled rank, Sir. We couldn't stop him from going."

And so Colonel Hogan was left in the camp, able to go out and track down his men but with no clue as to where they would be. The fact was that they should have been back by now, unless something unexpected happened, and they needed to know what was going on. But with Marya in the camp, telling Gruber who knew what, perhaps it was for the best that he stay here. So instead he went into his office, plugged in the coffee pot, and sat down to listen for a while in case Marya _did_ tell Gruber something he should know about.

* * *

"LeBeau," Carter asked quietly, "what is the Colonel doing in that field? I thought he was with you and Newkirk."

"That isn't the Colonel," LeBeau replied darkly, getting over his surprise at seeing the others there and remembering all the trouble that Edward caused him.

"What do you mean?" asked Kinch.

"I mean that Colonel Crittendon was right about the alien space ship, and the real colonel was duplicated. That is one of the duplicates."

"I say!" exclaimed Crittendon. "I had no idea it could do that. Imagine how much you could get done with two of you around. Hogan must be quite chuffed."

"Actually there are three of him, and the two duplicates are nothing but trouble. Look at that one! He is doing everything he can to make trouble for us! He is trying to film an American propaganda movie in the middle of Nazi Germany, and he does not even realize that it could go wrong." LeBeau could not understand how Crittendon could possibly think this was a good thing. "But what are you doing here? I thought you two would be back at the camp."

"We got a message from the Underground about meeting that contact that the Colonel did not meet the other day. When we got to the rendezvous point, we ran into Crittendon as well, and he decided we should act on the Underground's information immediately," Kinch told him.

"What was their information about?"

"There's an ammo dump in that field, and we need to blow it up. We had just finished planting the bombs, and Crittendon was going to give Carter and me time to get back to camp before he set them off, but then _he_ showed up with all those women," Kinch motioned to the duplicate as he spoke.

"What _do_ we call him?" Carter wondered.

"His name is Edward the Dramatic, and I say we should blow him up with the ammo dump," LeBeau muttered, seeing an easy way out of dealing with the crazy duplicate."

"I say! That is a horrible idea! He may be making a fool of himself, but he is still a duplicate of your commanding officer." All three looked shocked at LeBeau's suggestion, but it was Crittendon's scandalized tone that set LeBeau off.

"I do not care. Since he was created, that man has attacked the Colonel with a book, kidnaped me, forced me to lie for him, forced me to pretend to be a collaborator, dressed me like a fool, made me stand on a street corner all night, gotten me arrested, and made me lie for him all over again. He is nothing like the real Colonel, and he is nothing but trouble. He would not be the first person that we blew up, and he has done nothing to win my friendship."

"All that in one night?" Carter asked, wide-eyed.

"_Oui_, and who know what Newkirk went through after being kidnapped by the other one, Robert the Romantic."

"Still, I'm not sure that blowing him up is the best way to take care of him," Kinch replied cautiously. "For one thing, even if this Edward does deserve it, there are over a dozen other people out there with him. We don't want to kill civilians if we can avoid it."

"Then what do you recommend?" LeBeau fumed.

"I know," Carter answered. "He got _you_ arrested, right? So why don't we go arrest him? We can take him back to camp with us and keep him in the cooler until the Colonel figures out what to do with him."

"That might work," Kinch agreed, looking to LeBeau to see if the Frenchman would have any objections.

LeBeau had to concede that the idea would work, and he even had something that might make it better. "When I was at the police station, I had a chance to look through a back room. I found this," he said, pulling a slightly rumpled uniform jacket and hat out of his own jacket. The jacket had a badge that read "security guard" on it, and the two had made an awkward bulge on one side until now. He was surprised that Keiner and Weir had not noticed when he left, but he figured they did not want to get on the wrong side of General Kinchmeyer. "I took them in case Newkirk wanted to use them to make us some police uniforms, but I think they might fit Carter."

Carter took them and held them up to himself. He pulled them on, and the fit was better than LeBeau realized. "Okay," he said, "so I just go up there and arrest him?"

"This was your idea," Kinch reminded him.

"If you like, I could do it," Crittendon suggested, and Carter hastily shook his head.

"No, I've got it. Just give me a minute to get ready." While Carter prepared himself to march onto the explosive-laden field, Kinch, LeBeau, and Crittendon moved further back into the trees in case someone looked over in the direction that Carter came from. But soon Carter was ready to move forward.

He set his shoulders and walked onto the field, trying to put as much authority into his posture as he could without coming too close to how he did his General impressions. Edward saw him and froze when Carter was about half-way there, and the other people in the field soon followed his gaze, looking nervous when they saw who they thought was an angry police officer coming towards them. Carter ignored them, however, and focused solely on Edward, trying not to feel too nervous about arresting a man who looked exactly like the Colonel.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked, and Edward did his best to give him a charming smile.

"We are here to make a movie about how hard work instead of war is the road to peace and happiness. I am Edward, the director, and these are my actors, and this is my camera man. Would you like to be in it too?"

Carter ignored the question, refusing to start responding to Edward and therefore let him control the conversation. "And why are you filming here? Is this _your_ field?"

"No, but—"

Carter cut him off. "Do you have permission from the people who own the field?"

"Not yet, but—"

"Then I am placing you under arrest for trespassing." Carter grasped Edward's shoulder with one hand, spinning him around and pushing him to the ground before the man could react and tense his muscles. Like the Colonel, Edward was bigger than Carter, and Carter knew that his best chance to get the man to do what he wanted was to do everything before Edward could prepare himself. In one more motion, Carter pulled out the handcuffs that he found in one of the jacket pockets and snapped one around one of the man's wrists. But Carter was not used to putting people in handcuffs, and he fumbled a bit. It was not long, but it was just long enough for Edward to realize what was happening and pull away.

"I will not accept this!" He yelled, a nasty glint in his eyes telling Carter that Edward knew exactly who he was and what he was doing, even if he was not actually the Colonel. "You are trying to censor artwork! You have no right to do this! You claim I am trespassing in this field, but you are the true criminal, trespassing on great art and preventing it from being made!" Edward then looked wildly around the crowd of his actors. "Join me in protesting! Together, we cannot be prevented from making great art!"

Several people moved towards them, and Carter's heart sank as he realized that he was badly outnumbered, especially since most of the people here were women and he knew better than to try to fight off women.

But then something surprising happened, and the women converged on Edward, forcing him to stay still with his hands behind his back. Carter, shocked though he was, used the opportunity to attach the second handcuff around Edward's wrist.

"_Danke_," one of the women said to him as he finished. "This man has kept us awake all night preparing for the film. He would not let us go home to get sleep. And now we find out that he did not have permission to film here. We do not want any trouble, Sir."

"That's alright," Carter responded. "None of you are in trouble—just him. But you should all go home now and get some rest."

The women thanked him and moved off, but Carter could have sworn he heard one of them ask another, "Should we tell the officer about the Frenchman, too?"

The other woman replied, "_Nein_, he was actually nice to us."

And then the women, and the camera man, were gone, leaving Carter and Edward standing alone in a field turned ammo dump turned film set. Carter nudged Edward forward, and to his surprise, Edward followed his lead easily. It seemed that as soon as his scheme failed, Edward lost heart very quickly. Carter hoped they could get him back to camp before he came up with another one.

"Well done," Kinch congratulated him when they reached the others, but Edward looked at LeBeau with a snarl.

"I should have known you would betray me. Even after all I did for you, you still turned on me. You should be ashamed and live the rest of your life ridiculed by others. This day I swear that the first film I make when I get out of this will be to expose you for the traitor you really are, and from that day forward, no one will be able to look at you without knowing what you have done."

"I say, I see where he got the title of 'Dramatic,'" Crittendon remarked, not seeming to sense the hostility radiating off Edward.

"We should get back to the camp," Kinch said, before anyone else could respond to Edward. "Colonel Crittendon, please remember to give us two hours before you set off the bombs."

"Two hours, right-o," the British man responded as he looked at his watch and settled down on a nearby rock to wait. Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter looked at each other briefly, hoping that Crittendon would not mess this up, and set off, surrounding Edward the best that they could to keep him from trying to run off.

For the most part, Edward was well-behaved, and they made good time getting back to camp. From what they could tell, Edward knew what the Colonel knew, so they did not have to hide the tunnels from him, and they got him below the camp without incident.

Olsen greeted them, looking shocked when he saw Edward. "He really was telling the truth," he muttered, and Kinch responded.

"Believe me, he's very different from the Colonel, and we don't want him running around unsupervised."

"Right. I'll go get the Colonel. He's in his office, listening to make sure Marya does not tell Gruber anything."

"Marya?" LeBeau perked up, feeling more and more like the day was finally starting to go in his favor. Kinch and Carter exchanged worried looks though. Edward, for his part, looked surprised and happy, like he thought he would finally be around someone who understood him.

"Carter," Kinch said, "you should go put Edward in the cooler. Make sure you put him in a cell without a tunnel."

"Right," Carter replied, and he started to lead Edward away. Edward still did not protest, and it worried Carter a little, but he took him to the cooler, removing the handcuffs only after the man was secure in his cell.

"I've never been locked up in jail before," Edward said despondently.

"Well, the Colonel has, and you have his memories, so it's almost the same thing, right?" Carter lay a comforting hand on the other man's arm as it extended through the bars.

"It's not the same. You've been in prison too long to realize it, though."

"Just think, you can make a dramatic movie about prison when you get out." Edward gave him a weak smile at that, but Carter was glad he could give the man at least a little comfort.


	22. V is for Volatile

V is for Volatile

"Likely to change in a sudden or extreme way; likely to become dangerous or out of control"

* * *

Hogan was tired. He had been out all night, and even though he had gotten a lot of sleep the day before, that did not make up for how strenuous the night had been. And now he had to deal with Marya in the camp. So far she had not done anything too dreadful, and Hogan wondered a little if she was also tired, seeing how late she got back to her spaceship, but the fact was she was still awake and prowling around the camp, sometimes trying to talk with Gruber and sometimes trying to talk with the guards, as various reports from his men indicated. What worried him the most was that she seemed to be bored, and he knew from far too much experience that a bored Marya never led to anything good for him.

Suddenly someone knocked on his door. "Colonel?" came Olsen's voice, "I have some good news."

"Come in," Hogan called back, hoping that whatever it was would actually help them in some way.

The door opened, and Olsen walked in. "Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau just came back. They had one of the duplicates that you told us about with them."

"Edward the Dramatic?" Hogan guessed, since that was the one who kidnapped LeBeau.

"I think Kinch did call him Edward," Olsen agreed. "He also told Carter to go lock him in the cooler."

Hogan sighed. "I guess that is the best place for him, though we'll have to think of something different if Gruber decides to throw anyone else in there. Did Crittendon come back with them?"

"There was no sign of him, Sir. But the others are still in the tunnel waiting for instructions."

"Right. Olsen, take over here. So far Marya has not said anything too important, but if she does, I want to know about it immediately."

"Yes, Sir," Olsen replied, sitting down in the chair Hogan just vacated.

Hogan walked out into the main barracks and over to the tunnel. Dropping down into it, he went to the radio room where he figured they were most likely to wait. Kinch and LeBeau were there, much to his relief.

"Colonel," Kinch said, "we sent Carter to lock Edward in the cooler. He should be back soon."

"Good. LeBeau, I need a report on what happened after Edward kidnapped you."

"He tried to make an American movie using a cast of German women he found. He forced me to stand on a street corner and try to sell their art, and then I was arrested for vagrancy and had to pretend to be on a secret mission from General Kinchmeyer to let me go. And then I found him again, trying to film his movie in the field that was also the ammo dump that Kinch and Carter were trying to blow up."

"He found a cast and camera that fast?" Hogan asked, slightly impressed despite himself.

"He found them all at a place called the Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society, but their art was miserable."

"Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society?" Hogan questioned. "It sounds familiar. Where have I heard that before?"

"I don't know, Colonel. It doesn't sound familiar to me," Kinch said, just as Carter came into the room, taking off the jacket LeBeau took from the police station.

"I locked him in the cooler, just like you said," he told Kinch. "I made sure it was one of the cells without a tunnel entrance."

"That's good" Hogan said, deciding to think about where he heard about the Art Society later. "Now, I need you and Kinch to tell me what happened after Newkirk, LeBeau, and I left."

"It started when the underground set up a new meeting place at the Hammelburg Dinner Theater. Carter wanted backup, so I went with him. We got there just fine, but Carter ran into trouble inside," Kinch started the story.

"Oh boy did I ever," Carter replied. "I didn't see Sneezy, but Colonel Crittendon was there, and he recognized me. Somehow the stage manager thought we were supposed to perform that night's act, so he locked us in the greenroom until we came up with a performance. You should have seen it, Colonel. We were trying to get thrown off the stage, but those people actually liked it! Why, I bet—"

"Carter," Hogan broke in, "just stick with the basics." Kinch took up the story again.

"What he means is that the only way they could think to get off the stage was to use the trapdoors in it. I was inside by then and helped make sure it was safe, but while I was doing that, Sneezy gave the ammo dump layout to Crittendon, and Crittendon insisted that we blow it up immediately.

"He had us go to a local chemical lab, but the Gestapo got wind of it and stormed the place. We got out without anyone seeing us, but the bomb went off and caught Major Hochstetter in the blast. I called the hospital, and they said he would be there for several days.

"Then Crittendon insisted we leave camp again to take care of the ammo dump. It took longer than expected, and we ran into LeBeau there just after Edward happened to arrive. We had Carter go arrest Edward, and we brought him back here. Crittendon is supposed to blow up the ammo dump in an hour."

"Okay," Hogan said, processing what he was sure was a rapid summary. "What you three should know is that Crittendon was right about there being an alien star ship in a field. Newkirk, LeBeau, and I went there and accidentally brought Langenscheidt. Langenscheidt accidentally duplicated me, and Robert the Romantic," here Hogan had to force himself to say the name without cringing when he realized he was talking about someone who was supposed to be his duplicate, "kidnapped Newkirk to try to find Tiger, and Edward the Dramatic kidnapped LeBeau. Langenscheidt and I were still in the star ship when the alien came back, and get this, the alien is Marya."

If anything good came out of this, it was the chance Hogan had to see his men completely dumbfounded. They believed him. After all they had seen that night, they had to believe him. But it was so unexpected that they could hardly process it.

"What? How is that possible?" Kinch asked.

"She has a disguise that makes her look human," he replied. LeBeau looked faint at the thought that a woman he cared so much about was an alien, and he did not say anything.

"You know," Carter said after a beat, "we've been through a lot of stuff that makes no sense whenever Marya is around. But now everything makes sense if Marya is an alien."

Sometimes Hogan had a hard time understanding where the leaps in Carter's thought process came from, but he had to admit that somehow that just sounded right.

"So what do we do now?" Kinch asked.

"I already had Baker get in contact with the Underground to contact Tiger. I have no idea where she is, but that's where Robert was headed. I was hoping that Newkirk could overpower him and get back here by roll call, but since none of you were back, I had to tell Gruber that all four of you disappeared like Klink."

"And he bought that?" Kinch asked dubiously.

"Langenscheidt backed me up. He was concussed and did not really know what he was saying."

"Speaking of Klink, have we found out anything about him yet?"

"No. Marya said nothing when I asked. I think she didn't know herself. But until he gets back, or until I can think of a good excuse, I'll need you three to hide in the tunnel so no one gets suspicious. Hopefully no one will walk into the cooler and see Edward there. I can't think of how I would explain that one."

"But speaking of Edward, why don't we just give him to Marya? You said it was her spaceship that created him, so maybe she can get rid of him too." Carter's question took Hogan by surprise.

"Somehow I don't think we should trust Marya with that much responsibility. With our luck, she'd adopt him as a partner in crime and start taking him all over Germany with her on those crazy schemes of hers. After what you just told me, I hate to think what would happen if those two teamed up on some half-baked plot."

LeBeau looked like he didn't know whether to protest for Marya's sake or agree for Edward's sake, but Hogan and the others took pity and did not call him on it. Instead Hogan was just about to tell them to go get some sleep in the guest area when he suddenly remembered something important.

The Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society _had_ come into conversation just recently. In fact, that was the name of the place where he, Langenscheidt, and Marya sent Burkhalter when they were trying to get rid of him. After what LeBeau said about Edward, he could only hope that nothing bad would come of Burkhalter's visit to that place.

* * *

Burkhalter straightened his suit as he stood outside the Hammelburg Women of Wartime Art Society. He was no longer in his general's uniform after an unfortunate incident with a flat tire and a grumpy dry cleaner that put him behind schedule and forced him to wear a civilian suit, but he was confident that once he told the women here his rank, they would welcome him anyway. He _was_ stationed in the area, and if Klink had been sending his guards here on leave, the women would certainly have heard about him by now.

He stepped up to the door and opened it, finding himself in a hallway with a guest book on a table. He moved over to it to see who else had visited this place, but before he got there, a woman stepped out of the room at the end of the hall and eyed him warily.

"Who are you and why are you here?"

The woman was older than General Burkhalter was hoping, but perhaps she was just a cleaning lady, he thought unflatteringly.

"I am General Burkhalter," he said. "It has come to my attention that this place needs a thorough inspection."

Another older woman appeared next to the first and pulled the first aside. "This is not a good time. Everyone is tired after what happened last night," she said quietly, but Burkhalter heard anyway.

"And what was it that happened last night?" Burkhalter asked, already displeased that this place was not living up to his expectations.

"We had an all night art appreciation session," the first woman told him, and Burkhalter could have sworn she was lying."

"I see," he said. "I suppose you can show me some of the art you made?" He pushed his way past the older women into the other room, where he at last saw some younger women in yellow leotards. He supposed they must be practicing some sort of dance, but then they saw him and instantly clustered together, apparently not expecting a stranger to walk into the room. But that was alright. He had a way of getting women to open up to him.

The older women came rushing into the room behind him, indignant and spluttering protests. "What are you doing?" on exclaimed. "Even if you are a general, you are a man who has not been invited in!"

"He did not even sign the guest book!" the other exclaimed.

General Burkhalter turned to the older women, intent on saying something to get rid of them. But as he did, his elbow bumped a drawing on an easel next to him, knocking it to the floor. One of the young women sprang forward horrified, and the others turned to him as though he had somehow betrayed them. General Burkhalter looked more closely at the picture. The peson in it looked somewhat familiar.

"Who is this supposed to be?" he asked. "This is out of proportion, and the face is all blurry. Whoever drew this should not be in an art society."

The young woman looked at him in complete outrage, and for the first time since coming there, Burkhalter wondered if he might have overstepped his bounds. The women seemed to think he had.

"He has insulted my picture of Louis!" the young woman exclaimed.

"Louis has a true appreciation of art!" another replied.

"He is censoring art, just like Edward said!" yelled a third.

"How do we know he is even a general? He is not dressed like one." With that, the women turned their glares fully on Burkhalter, and he did the only sensible thing he could do. He ran.

Burkhalter ran, and the women chased him out onto the street and through the buildings. Unfortunately he had forgotten where he parked his car, and he turned in the wrong direction. There was no chance to go back, so he just had to keep running hand hope he found a place to hide.


	23. W is for Wiseacre

W is for Wiseacre

"A person who says or does things that are funny but also annoying"

* * *

A loud explosion sounded right on schedule, and the men of Barracks Two all breathed a sigh of relief that Crittendon had actually followed the plan. Marya seemed to perk up at the sound, but she had no idea what caused it, and Hogan had absolutely no plans of enlightening her. Unfortunately for him, she soon had plenty of entertainment at his expense.

About twenty minutes after the ammo dump blew up, the missing truck drove into camp with Schultz at the wheel and Newkirk sitting tiredly beside him. There was no sign of Robert, so Hogan quickly whispered to Foster and Baker to check inside the back of the truck. Marya, however, saw him glance at the truck bed just as Gruber stepped outside the Kommandantur.

"Sergeant Schultz!" Gruber exclaimed, looking relieved to see the other man. "You came back early. And you brought the Englander with you." Suddenly Gruber did a double take, realizing that it was indeed the missing Englishman who was with Schultz in the truck.

"Newkirk!" Hogan exclaimed, darting past the Germans to reach him first. "We were so worried after you disappeared. It was just like Langenscheidt told us. There was a bright flash and then you were gone."

Newkirk looked startled, but he caught on, just like always. "Yes Sir, but I don't remember much after that. I woke up and there was Schultz, ready to capture me and bring me back."

"It is like he said," Schultz said proudly. "I caught them and brought them back. Nobody can escape Stalag XIII when I am here."

"But you were in Dusseldorf, not here," Gruber said.

"It is like I said. No one can escape Stalag XIII, even when I am not here."

"So where are the others? Are they in the back of the truck?"

Hogan, who knew that Kinch, Carter, and LeBeau were all in the tunnel and who saw Newkirk's momentary look of panic realized that "them" must refer to Newkirk and Robert, and there was no way he wanted Gruber to know about Robert. Unfortunately, he did not have a choice.

"Hogan, Darling," Marya said. "Your men are _very_ helpful." She motioned to the back of the truck, and Schultz and Gruber looked around just in time to see Foster and Baker pulling the bound, gagged, and crying Robert the Romantic out of the back of the truck.

"What is this?" Gruber asked, shocked at the sight of a second Hogan. He turned to the original. "I did not know you have a brother. Someone take that gag out of his mouth." One of the guards complied, and Gruber stared at the crying man, now held between two guards instead of two of Hogan's men. "Who are you? What is your name?" he asked finally, clearly thinking that he needed to begin the paperwork for a new prisoner.

"I am Robert, and there is no meaning in life anymore."

Gruber looked slightly disturbed. "Colonel Hogan, why would your parents give you and your brother the same first name?"

"It made it easy to call us to dinner," Hogan quipped, not seeing how he would get out of this one. Gruber clearly thought he was serious, and he looked warily at the two Robert Hogans as though he was trying to figure out what he was missing here. Finally he decided to settle on Klink's old standby.

"Well, Robert Hogan, you have a good outlook on life from now on, because for you the war is over. Schultz, take him to get cleaned up and then bring him to the Kommandant's office."

The small group watched as Gruber walked away. "Oh boy," Schultz muttered. "He is in charge, just like you said," he looked at Newkirk.

"I should be insulted that you didn't believe me."

"He is not as much fun as Klink," Marya agreed. "You should take this one to the cooler, she remarked offhandedly. Hogan instantly tried to derail the conversation, hoping that no one would find out about Edward.

"No, we need to clean him up, like Gruber said. After all, we don't want him to give Klink a bad report when he gets back."

"No, if he is clean, he will look just like you, Hogan darling. We should put him in the cooler where no one will confuse you two." And with that, Marya motioned to the two guards holding Robert to let him go, and then she led him on a rapid march to the cooler. Even if Hogan had time to get word to the others, there was no way they could get Edward out before she arrived, so Hogan went after her, followed closely by Newkirk and Schultz, who had not seemed at all surprised to see two Hogans.

"I protest this treatment," he could hear Robert muttering halfheartedly. "There may be no more meaning in life now that my true love rejected me, but there is still an ideal for us to emulate. Romance cannot truly be gone while we have that."

"Who cares about romance?" came Edward's voice. He had apparently moved past listless discouragement and into anger. "The world is a dark, gritty place filled with betrayal and desertion. Only a fool would look to an unachievable ideal when all other hopes have already failed him!"

Marya stopped dead in shock, but then a smile spread over her face as she realized that both the duplicates were here. "Hogan, darling, I was just trying to lock this one up where I could find him again, but now I see that the other one is here too. You should have told me sooner."

Colonel Hogan grimaced. "I was hoping we could just get back to fixing your star ship now that we have both of them contained."

"Where's the fun in that?" Marya asked. "Robert, what would you like best in the world?"

He sniffled a bit. "I want to be with my lady love and to shower her with affection."

"Edward, what would you like best in the world?"

"I want to engage in all the dramatic events of life. I want to put on shows and be at the center of great events."

"That is good," Marya told them both. "Sergeant, I need the keys for the cells." She motioned to Robert as she said this, but Hogan had the horrible feeling that he was missing something important. Robert, Edward, and Marya exchanged a secretive glance as though they were all suddenly on the same page, and Hogan was completely left out. Schultz handed Marya the key so she could lock Robert inside, but instead she whipped around and opened Edwards cell, and the three took off like a shot, bowling past Hogan, Newkirk, and Schultz before they could do anything to stop them.

The three were surprisingly fast, and Marya was already starting her car by the time the others gathered themselves and raced out of the cooler. Robert and Edward were with her.

"Hogan, you are a fun person, but these two seem to have a better idea of fun than you do. And they are not prisoners," she called out to them before stepping on the gas.

"THERE!" Edward shouted to her, pointing to a part of the fence that Hogan and his men had altered for their use and was weaker than the gates. Marya drove her car straight towards it, crashing into it and knocking it down. The last thing anyone at Stalag XIII heard from them as they disappeared from sight was Edward's joyful shout, "My first getaway!"

Hogan could only watch in horror. Just when they had those contained and Marya under surveillance, the three ran off with no one to stop them.

* * *

Burkhalter knew he had to take shelter from the women somewhere, but he did not want to stop running to check for open doors if it meant that they would catch up with him. But then a man walked out of one, and Burkhalter raced up to him, breathing heavily, and pushed himself inside. The other man let out a squawk of offense, but otherwise did not do anything to stop him.

Burkhalter took a few minutes to pant heavily before anything else, but when he at last thought he could move again, he realized that there were excited voices echoing down the hallway. Deciding that he should let as much time as possible pass before going outside again, he made his way down the hallway instead.

He seemed to be in a laboratory of some sort, and the voices were coming out of one of the labs, which honestly looked more like a shed to him than a state-of-the-art science lab. But he stepped inside anyway, pulling on a lab coat as he did since that was what you were supposed to do in labs.

"I'm telling you, there are two more mice in the cage than there were last night!" said one man.

"So?" replied another. "That just means someone is pranking you."

"_Nein_, they are identical with one of the other mice in every way, except that they act crazy."

"Well, how do you explain it then?"

"See that window? I think some special ray from outside came in last night and hit one of them and duplicated it."

"You _are_ crazy," Burkhalter responded, despairing to see German scientists come up with such a ridiculous explanation.

"Who are you?" asked the third man, who had actually been paying enough attention to notice when Burkhalter walked in and so was no too shocked by his presence to respond.

"I am—" Burkhalter began, but suddenly there was the crash of the front door opening and determined footsteps running through the halls. Burkhalter thought the women had found him, but to his surprise it was three Gestapo men, who all appeared in the doorway and pointed their guns at him.

"Halt," one shouted. "You are under arrest."

"Under arrest? What for?"

"You are not one of the scientists who works here, so that means you have returned to the scene of the crime."

"What crime?"

"There was a break in last night, and the person responsible—you—blew up Major Hochstetter. We have been watching this place ever since."

Butkhalter still had no idea what was going on, but if what these men said was true, then Major Hochstetter, the only Gestapo man who could recognize him on sight, was unable to get him out of this situation.

* * *

Author's Note: Surely no one thought that just because we're getting to the end of the alphabet that things would start calming down or get easy for the characters…


	24. X is for Xenophobia

X is for Xenophobia

"Fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners or of anything that is strange or foreign"

* * *

LeBeau, try as he might, could not get to sleep. Everything that had happened in the past day was weighing heavily on him, and he was not sure how to process it. Usually he could cook and forget everything else for a while, but here, down in the tunnel where he was supposed to be catching up on sleep, there was no chance of that.

Until a few hours ago, he would have scoffed if anyone told him that aliens were real, but clearly they _were_ real. To top it off, Marya, beautiful, angelic Marya, was one of them, and she had been indirectly responsible for what happened to him that night. Not only that, but the Colonel came down into the tunnel earlier and told them that she had run away with both the duplicates, undoubtedly to cause more trouble.

He sighed, realizing that there was no point in trying to sleep right now, and he got up to wander through the tunnels and hopefully find something to keep him busy. To his surprise, he saw that Kinch was gone, though Carter seemed to be sleeping soundly. Curious, he went first to the radio room, where Kinch was meticulously cleaning dust and dirt off some radio parts.

"Is everything all right?" Kinch asked him as he stopped in the doorway.

"No, everything is not all right. The past day makes that very clear."

Kinch sighed. "I suppose that's right." The two men were silent for a few minutes more. "As if everything we've been through already were not enough, now we have to worry about aliens, and how do we deal with that?"

"At least you have your radio down here, and Carter has his lab when he wakes up," LeBeau grumbled, unable to answer Kinch's rhetorical question. "I need to cook something, but I'm stuck down here."

"We have good news about that, actually," Kinch said. "After Schultz brought Newkirk back, the Colonel decided that we can probably reappear in camp one by one as long as we all say we have no idea what happened and don't remember anything after we supposedly disappeared this morning."

"And what happens if Klink comes back with a different story?"

"You know the Colonel. Aliens or not, he can handle Klink. You can wait here to talk with him about when you should reappear, if you want. I don't mind if you show up first, and I'm sure Carter won't either."

LeBeau nodded his thanks and settled in while Kinch stood up and turned to leave. Neither man really felt better about the situation, and neither knew what to say to try to make the other feel better.

Kinch left the room, having cleaned the radio and all its spare parts in the past few hours. He had no more reason to stay in the radio room, and he did not really want to talk with anyone, as good of a friend as LeBeau was. Still, he was no ready to try to sleep again, and despite what he told LeBeau, he did not want to spend a moment longer in the tunnel than necessary. So he did something he had never done before. Without orders or any specific mission, he changed into civilian clothes and left the camp, knowing it was ridiculously dangerous and the risk was inexcusable, but also knowing it was the only way he could find the kind of peace he needed.

Kinch did not wander around aimlessly. He knew exactly where he needed to go, so he set off in that direction, paying as much attention to his surroundings as possible so he would not accidentally cross paths with anyone. After nearly an hour, he reached his destination. It was an old stone church, still in very good repair but no longer used since it was so far outside of town and no one wanted to be seen traipsing through the forest by anyone who might report them for suspicious behavior. As much as it was a shame that people avoided the church, Kinch was glad today that he had this place to be.

He went inside and looked around until he saw a place to pray. There was a candle stand nearby that still had some candles in it, so he pulled some matches out of his pocket and lit them before turning away to kneel and pray. He knew he could not stay long, what with how long it took to get here, but he needed this.

* * *

Crittendon was proud of his work. He had successfully blown up the ammo dump. It was hard to believe that the others had wanted to wait, considering how perfectly the sabotage mission had gone. Of course there were a few bumps along the way, but that when did those never happen? As far as Crittendon was concerned, and completed mission was a successful mission, and anyone who argued against that was, quite simply, a grouch.

Still, he supposed that he should leave before anyone came to investigate the field that was no more, so he took one last look at the place, gathered up any evidence that he had been there (though of course it was impossible to gather the entire former ammo dump), and set out back the way he had come. He knew he had promised to head straight back to Stalag XIII after he finished with the ammo dump, and he figured he could get there from here without getting lost (unlike getting here from there, which was a completely different thing), but it was such a pleasant day, and he was sure it would not really matter if he spent a few hours walking around in the fresh air and enjoying it.

And so Crittendon set off in no particular direction, simply enjoying the weather and the feeling of satisfaction that came with a successful mission.

* * *

By the time Kinch made it back to the camp, he was feeling much better. Carter was just waking up, and LeBeau had already gone back upstairs. It seemed that no one had missed him while he was gone, and he was thankful. He was not the type of person to go AWOL, but it had been so long since he got to pray in a real church that he could not help but feel it was worth it.

He was a little puzzled by the fact that Crittendon was not back yet, and he was worried the man had been captured or had stumbled on something else to cause them trouble, so he decided he would speak with the Colonel about it when he saw him next. But for now, he just changed back into his regular clothes and filled Carter in on Colonel Hogan's plan to reintroduce them to the camp after their supposed alien abductions

Aliens were still a bit of an issue for him, as he suspected they were for everyone here, but he decided it was best to ignore that for the moment. They could rant about how Marya and her absurd behavior had put them all in danger later. For now, they just had to move forward and try to think of a way to repair an alien star ship.

* * *

Author's Note: A quick note about this chapter's word, Xenophobia. For a long time there were absolutely no words of the day that started with the letter X. When I went through the list a while back to find words for this story, there were none, so I planned on using a different word of the day that fit the content of the chapter. But lo and behold, on December 20, they finally used a word starting with X for the first time in probably about two years, and since this story involves space aliens making life hard on the heroes, I decided it fit decently well and could be used. So no, I'm not trying to imply that the heroes are against people from other cultures by using this word. I am just trying to use a word that starts with X.


	25. Y is for Yahoo

Y is for Yahoo

"A person who is very rude, loud, or stupid"

* * *

It had been a long, long day for Colonel Klink, filled with walking as he tried to escape vigilantes, smugglers, and the public in general. Towards the end of the day, he took breaks more often to sit down and rest his feet, but he was determined that no matter how tired or hungry or thirsty he was, he would get his monocle back. And so he kept walking towards the empty room he slept in the last night.

And so he made his way back to Gotham City, well aware that the clothes he took from the smugglers were unusual looking. He was willing to put up with it for the sake of his disguise, but then he noticed that the people he passed were paying more attention to him than they were before. Clearly the disguise backfired on him. He would have to do something about that.

As he was wondering what to do, he looked up and saw a shop just in front of him. It was clear how it would be useful in that moment, but he still grimaced a bit at the thought of actually using it. He was not in the habit of going to pawn shops, even if this would be a good place to sell the gold for some actual American money. He would prefer to do business at somewhere more upscale, but he supposed that this place was less likely to have security guards who would recognize him.

Klink gently pushed open the door, frowning when he heard a bell announce his presence. None of the shops in Hammelburg resorted to that. The shopkeepers all paid attention to the people who walked into their stores. But Klink pushed away his unease and glanced around the place. Clothing seemed to be in one particular area, so he walked towards it, looking through it until he found an acceptable suit that looked about his size. It was in remarkably good condition compared to everything else in this place, so he decided to be thankful for that and go ahead and buy it.

The man sitting behind the desk looked at him suspiciously as he approached, but something told Klink that this man looked at everyone that way, so he was not too intimidated. Not trusting his accent, Klink simply set the suit on the counter in front of the man.

"That'll be twenty-five bucks, ya old prospector." This man clearly was not even trying to be polite.

But Klink just sighed and pulled out the pouch of gold. He had no idea how much American money was worth, but thankfully he had been around enough Americans to know that "bucks" was slang for dollars.

The man picked up the pouch of gold and looked inside. He whistled appreciatively and dumped it out on the counter, thumbing through it in a way that made Klink just know that the man was about to cheat him.

"I'll give ya fifty for the gold. That means you get the suit and twenty-five whole smackeroos to go with it."

Klink nodded, insulted that the man thought he couldn't do basic math, but needing the suit and possibly the extra money. He took both and then raised the suit in a questioning manner, hoping the man would get the idea that he wanted a place to change into it without him having to speak.

"What, ya deaf or somethin'? Mute? German spy who don't want me to hear the accent?"

Klink shook his head, and motioned towards his throat, not really sure _what_ he was trying to say.

"Ah, sore throat then. Well, you can change in the back room, but don't go out the front door. I wouldn't want ya to scare off customers by coughing or something, ya old coot."

Klink went into the back room, liking the man at the counter less and less. Thankfully this room seemed decently clean, so he had no trouble changing into the suit. But just when he tried to leave again, the man yelled at him.

"Hey, what did I tell ya about goin' out the front door? There's a perfectly good back door you can use right through there." Klink went towards the back door, but as he was leaving, he heard the man mutter something about "dumb prospectin' yay-hoos," and he was quite sure it was not a compliment. He was more than glad to get out of there, and thankfully, once he was in an actual suit, very few people looked at him oddly.

By the time he was anywhere near the gargoyle building again, it was already long after dark, and Klink was ready for the day to be over. He went inside and climbed, again, all the way to the fifteenth floor. He walked down the hallway, looking down all the while to make sure that his monocle was not underfoot, but he did not see it. As cautious as he was the night before when he first found the room, he still remembered exactly which door it was—the fourth on the left—and sure enough, the door was unlocked, just as he left it.

But when Klink opened the door, he was surprised to see it clean and fully furnished, and there was a lady sitting there, staring directly at him.

* * *

Shortly after Klink walked inside the newly-furnished apartment building, General Burkhalter stood in a run-down laboratory with Gestapo men pointing guns at him. He gave them a glare, hoping they would realize who he was and let him go, but they did not seem interested in doing anything other than arresting him. The three scientists were also there, intermittedly looking between him and their lab mice. Burkhalter still thought they were fools for thinking that the mice had somehow been duplicated, but he was no longer in a position to tell them so. What could have possibly _duplicated_ the mice? Aliens?

The Gestapo men were still holding him at gunpoint, but they seemed to be debating what to do with him.

"We need to take him back with us. He blew up Major Hochstetter!"

"But what if it wasn't him? What if the real criminal is going to return to the scene of the crime, but we already left?"

"Very well, you can stay and watch the place, but I need to take this one back to headquarters for interrogation."

At that, Burkhalter would have gulped, but he did not want to show any weakness. Suddenly there was a bright flash, and Burkhalter, as surprised as he was by it, took his chance and fled the room. Even if those women were still outside, facing them would be better than facing the Gestapo.

* * *

Marya was driving her car, plotting her next move. She knew that Robert and Edward were not Colonel Hogan, and she knew that it was Colonel Hogan who was the genius at coming up with plans to harass the Germans, but she also knew that she could pull off some amazing things with these two duplicates, especially now that they had transferred their devotions to her. There were some very good benefits to being the owner of the copy machine that duplicated them, after all.

Still, with how upset Hogan had been, she decided that it would be better to head somewhere else for a while he focused on fixing Tubby III for her. Perhaps Berlin would be a good place to set these two loose.

But as she drove, she got a strange feeling, and an alert sounded in her car. Something was happening to Tubby III. She frowned, but before she could do anything about it, a bright flash of light came out of nowhere and she slammed on the brakes.

* * *

In Stalag XIII, Hogan was getting tired of trying to make up stories to tell Gruber. He could tell that he was on very thin ice, but he at least had Schultz's (actually true this time) testimony that the kidnapping was all Marya's idea. He made sure Schultz said nothing about Edward's existence, and thankfully Robert had never been officially recorded as a prisoner, so there was no reason to list him as an escaped prisoner either.

But just as he was trying to convince Gruber yet again that he did not help his "brother" escape, there was a bright flash of light, and Hogan had a sudden blinding headache.


	26. Z is for Zero-Sum

Author's Note: Well, I promised to finish this story by 2020, and since it's New Year's Eve, here is the last chapter. I hope you guys have enjoyed reading it. Happy New Year.

Z is for Zero-Sum

"Of, relating to, or being in a situation (such as a game or relationship) in which a gain for one side entails a corresponding loss on the other side"

* * *

"Come in," the woman told Klink in a Russian accent. "I have come in peace to talk with you."

"There is no peace," Klink replied, stepping into the room despite his general mistrust of anyone he met here. "How can there be peace when all the world seems intent on having a war?"

"In that case, I have come to aid you."

"How? Unless you can return my monocle and send me home, I don't see any chance of that."

The woman reached over to a side table and picked up Klink's monocle, cleaned and polished. She held it out to him, so he stepped forward and took it. "As for sending you home, I have some ideas about that as well."

"Pardon me," Klink broke in nervously as the woman stood and moved towards a writing desk. "Thank you for returning my monocle, but we have not been introduced. My name is Wilhelm Klink." He held out his hand and the woman ignored it, so he drew it back.

"I should not tell you my name. There is too much chance of you telling the wrong person." Klink was taken aback, but he did not want to contradict this woman who had not yet turned him in to the American military, or police, or even Batman. She spent some time looking at a few diagrams on some papers, but eventually she spoke again. "I suppose you should have some explanation, though.

"I am from another planet—do not look so shocked—where much is different from here. Our rulers love war, not only because they want to wipe each other out but because they think it is entertaining. The only rule they have about war is that any attack launched must have a conceivable defense, and because of that, they try to launch missiles at each other at random, hoping that one will someday not be noticed.

"The people of my planet have their own ideas about war. Some of them love it and have run off to other planets, such as this one, to see how war is done in other places. Some of us, like myself, seek only to escape it. But war is universal, and there is not a planet untouched by it in some way, and so I chose to live in a place where missiles are less likely to be fired at me."

Klink did not want to interrupt, but he hardly saw what this had to do with him. He was halfway of the mind that she was crazy, since she was talking about other planets and the people who lived there so casually, but he also knew that he had been in Stalag XIII one moment and America the next.

"One of my old schoolmates is from the other group, though. She came to this planet and has enjoyed watching the war ever since. She is in your area, and I believe you must have met her at some point."

"What is her name?" he asked, not remembering meeting anyone from another planet before.

"Marya." Suddenly Klink believed everything this woman told him. It would explain a lot about Marya, after all. "She is not so good with technology, so I have a program set up to scan in case she does anything too noticeable. Last night, my scanners detected a large problem, so I looked into it and saw leftover traces of our technology here in this room. The traces wore off before you left here, so I could not track you any further. I set up a base here to track you down or in case you came back."

"Okay," Klink said. "So you're telling me that you are an alien and Marya is an alien and that you can tell that she sent me here for some reason, but can you send me home?"

"Yes. I can do that and more. From what I can tell, her ship is just in need of a jump start, and I can easily do that from my ship in space. As for everything else she has done, I can try to reverse that too, but you must be patient. I must do this in reverse order, to keep it from getting tangled, you understand. So make yourself comfortable while I use my remote control."

Klink was not really sure what she meant, but he took it as an invitation to sit down on sofa. Still, he could not really get comfortable as he listened to the woman muttering to herself. She seemed rather put out at how badly Marya's ship was messed up. Then a couple of loud flashes and bangs happened, and Klink quickly looked over at her when he smelled smoke.

"Marya has really done it this time," the woman muttered angrily. "I will have to have a talk with her after this. But I think I have it figured out now." She turned to Klink. "Are you ready go home now?"

"Yes, but are you sure it's safe?" he asked, eyeing the smoking box she held warily.

"Oh this? There is nothing to worry about unless it explodes." She was about to press a button when Klink stopped her.

"What should I do when I get home? You have told me a lot of information, including that Marya is an alien. Do I have to worry about knowing too much?"

"Knowing too much?" the woman laughed. "Trust me, you barely know anything. But you should not worry about what you do know. I have set this thing so that when I finish reversing what Marya's ship did, it will take care of everything like that."

"You mean you will erase our memories?"

"Of course not!" the woman exclaimed, horrified by his suggestion. "Even if that were not ethically unacceptable, memory is a far more complex thing than that. To my knowledge, not a planet in the universe has _that_ sort of technology. No, everyone will remember everything that happened, but this will make it so that it seems ridiculously unbelievable to everyone that no one will take it seriously or even mention it to each other because they're scared of sounding like fools. It is a remarkably effective technology."

"I suppose that makes sense," Klink muttered, not really understanding a word of it. "But before I leave, I should make sure that someone catches the smugglers that are using a cabin in the woods."

"You would help a country your country is fighting catch criminals?"

"Well, I do run a prison, so I suppose you can say it is in my nature."

"Very well," the woman said disbelievingly. "I will get a message to Batman." She moved to press the button.

"Before I go, I should say thank you."

The woman waved her hand dismissively and pressed a button on her device without a word more. Klink saw a bright flash of light, and then he was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of his quarters in Stalag XIII.

* * *

Crittendon, who happened to be walking past the HMSS Tubby III at that very moment, rubbed his forehead as he sat up. "I must have fallen asleep," he said to himself. "I say, it's been quite some time since I had a dream like that. It must have been back during my school days the last time it happened," he chuckled to himself.

He glanced across at the field that he thought had been twinkling, but there was nothing remarkable about it now. It was easily past noon now, and he was a bit ashamed at having slept so long, in the open no less, but at least there was no one there to see him. So he stood up and decided to get started again on his escape attempt.

This one, he felt, was bound to go off without a hitch, other than his fellow prisoners not joining him, of course.

* * *

Marya looked around her car and pouted a bit. Robert and Edward were gone, just when she was starting to have some good ideas about what to do with them. She was glad that her Tubby III was fixed, since that was the only way anyone could flip the reverse switch on her copy machine, but she wished she could have had them for a few days longer.

"Anya will have to explain herself for this," Marya decided before starting her car again. She could worry about her old schoolmate later.

* * *

Hogan sat down, his head aching enough that he could almost believe that two copies of him had been wiped out of existence. But that would be ridiculous. Not even he would have the guts to try pulling a scheme like that. He looked up at Gruber, who was looking around himself in confusion.

"I cannot remember," Gruber asked. "Is Kommandant Klink sick or visiting Stalag V?"

"I know nothing," Schultz declared. "But I still have three days left on my leave."

"Yes, of course," Gruber replied. "Go enjoy your leave." Schultz took his advice and went out the door as fast as he was able.

"I think I should go lie down for a bit," Hogan muttered, hoping the headache would go away.

"But what about your brother?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hogan snapped, and he got up to leave.

"Right, of course. That…does not even make sense…" Hogan heard Gruber mutter as he left the room.

Hogan made his way across the compound and into his barracks, where, if he did not have a bad headache, he would have thought that there were a lot of men looking confused and refusing to meet each others' eyes. But he was just focused on getting some shut eye.

* * *

Klink stood up and brushed off the unusual suit he was wearing trying to ignore how much it looked like the suit he had bought at the pawn shop in his dream. He felt something in his pocket and pulled out his monocle. But then he felt something in another pocket, and he reached in. To his surprise, he pulled out an old, shabby, floppy hat. In fact, it looked exactly like the hat he found in the smuggler's cabin in his dreams.

This was all a very strange coincidence, he thought. But then he remembered what the alien woman in his dreams said about people remembering but not believing what had happened.

"No, it cannot be," he muttered, his eyes widening as his brain put things together. Maybe it was real, he thought. But still, just to be on the safe side, it would be best to say nothing.


End file.
